


Origins

by Starlingsings



Category: Lennon/McCartney - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlingsings/pseuds/Starlingsings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like watching the origin of the species...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard To Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with the lovely, talented, long-suffering Rhoste.

John wanders down the road, occasionally swigging from the half full bottle of cheap whiskey he clutches in one hand, peering at the buildings he passes. The fact that he's been to Paul's hundreds of times before is beside the point - his processing is a little muddled at the moment. He's triumphant when he finally finds the right door, ignoring that it took three passes along the road to do so, and he stumbles inside and up to Paul's little bedsit, banging loudly on the door.

Paul groans when he hears the knock. "All right, all right, I'm turning it down!" he calls, doing as he's said and turning the radio down even softer before padding over to the door. "Sorry," he says, opening his door, "I've just--John?"

"Hello, Paulie," John grins, leaning against the doorpost and waving the bottle at him. "Wanna drink?"

"Yeah, sure Johnny," Paul steps back, making room for John to come into his room. It's not the first time John's come over drunk. It's not the first time he's brought liquor with him. There's something about the desperately manic light in his eyes, though. "You all right, mate?"

"Course I am, Paulie," John grins, just barely managing not to trip as he crosses the threshold. "Shouldn't a man be all right when he's gone and gotten himself hooked up? Shoulda gone down on one knee, but she got the point." He claps Paul on one shoulder, then stumbles his way across the room and collapses on Paul's bed. "Congratulate me, Paulie! I'm gonna be a married man!" With that he takes another long drink from the bottle.

He feels a little thick-headed and slow, standing there, still holding his door open as he stares at John. "You're--married?" Paul asks, swinging the door closed before he moves to sit next to John on his bed, "What the fuck, John?"

"Fuck no." John's face screws up in disgust at the idea. "Spoken for, though, Paulie." He takes another drink, emptying the bottle, tossing it at the bin and missing. "Sorry, mate." He rolls off the bed, standing and swaying for a minute before going to try and pick it up. Bending over is beyond him, though, and he ends up sat on the floor. He looks around as if not sure exactly how he got there, then shrugs and goes fishing through his jacket pockets for his ciggies. "Cyn's knocked up," he says flatly.

A little dumbfounded by it all, Paul moves to sit there on the floor next to John, offering him one of his own cigarettes. "Jesus, Johnny!" he exhales, shaking his head and lighting up a cig of his own, "So you're gonna marry her.” Of course. The world suddenly feels far too real.

"Got to, haven't I." It's not a question; Paul knows as well as John does that that's the only option. You knock 'em up, you marry 'em, that's the deal, unspoken as it usually is. He runs a hand through his hair and squints at Paul through the smoke. "I won't let it interfere with us, Paul. I promise. The group goes on. No question."

"'Course it won't, John," Paul's head jerks around towards John and he looks a little startled that it would even come up. Of course, on deeper thought, it makes sense - John's going to have a family to support soon.

John nods. "Okay then." He sighs. "Christ, I need a drink. You got any booze in here?"

Of all the people that deserve to get drunk tonight, John's at the top of the list and since Paul's his mate, he'll by-god help him do it! "Yeah, hang on," he says, going to the dresser and grabbing two glasses and the bottle of half-decent scotch he'd got for his birthday. Flopping down next to John, Paul hands him a glass and pours a good measure. "Right then."

John takes the glass and lifts it in toast to Paul. "Right," he echoes, swallowing down a good third of the drink. He shifts so his back's against the wall, legs spread out in front of him. "Married. The old ball and chain. And, Christ, a kid. What am I going to do with a bloody kid around the place?" He nudges Paul's knee with his foot. "It'll be the end of our carousing. Can't stagger home drunk in the wee hours and wake the baby."

For whatever reason, that strikes Paul funny and he starts giggling. "Oh, that's all right, love," he gives John a broad wink, "We'll just bring our birds back to mine. 'Least it's warmer than Hamburg, hey?"

"Anything's warmer than Hamburg," John snorts. "All those nights, shivering in the dark, pulling our own just to keep warm."

"Worked, didn't it?" Paul laughs, pouring John and then himself another stout measure, now wanting more than anything to be able to jolly his friend up a bit.

"It did at that," John acknowledges. "It was fun, wasn't it, Paulie?" he asks a bit wistfully. "Fancy-free, new bird every night if we wanted." He looks around the small bedsit. "Who gets the floor if we bring 'em back here?"

Shrugging, Paul downs a good swig of his scotch and looks around, too. "We'll take turns," he offers magnanimously, eyes starting to go a bit glassy with how quickly he's drinking to catch up with John.

John laughs, then grows serious as he regards Paul. "You're the best friend I ever had, Paul."

"Well, same at you, Johnny-boy," Paul laughs at first before catching sight of the solemnness there in John's face. He nods, repeating more quietly, "Same at you."

John nods, mouth quirking. This is the first moment since Cynthia dropped the news that he's felt like himself. The second she'd said those words he'd felt the cage doors slam shut, seen himself going down to the docks looking for work, following in his father's footsteps, guitar nothing but something to pull out at parties to entertain a few friends on a Saturday night. Sitting here with Paul though, the dream flickers back into life, and he can feel his eyes filling with tears of relief.

When Paul sees that smile, that Lennon smirk, he knows things'll be all right and a tightness in his chest that he hadn't even realized was there starts to ease. He shifts around so he's sitting with his back up to the wall, right up next to John, and slings an arm around. "To the top, Johnny," Paul says quietly.

"Toppermost of the poppermost," John nods, resting his head on Paul's shoulder. He's so tired, so fed up, he just doesn't know what to do. Just being around Paul is so comforting, the scent of him working its way into John's nostrils, that he finds himself opening up the way he can't with anyone else. "I'm scared, Paul."

Giving John a little squeeze, Paul nods, staring blankly at the opposite wall. "I know, John," he says. _Bloody hell!_

"Yeah," John says as realisation hits. "Yeah, Paul, of course you do. Been through it, haven't you? How did you manage?"

"Well, I nearly threw meself out the window, didn't I?" Paul jokes hollowly, trying now to find his own emotional footing. More serious, he sighs, "Was hard, John. Thought it was all gonna end for me then, you know?"

"I know." John shifts his weight a little, now leaning more fully on Paul, taking comfort from his solid presence. "It didn't though. And it won't for me either. For us. It's all about us, about the group. That's the most important thing."

Bottle and glass discarded on the floor next to him, Paul turns slightly so he can wrap both arms around John, setting his chin on top of John's head. "Yeah, we'll be okay," and if Paul sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as he is John, well, what's wrong with that?

John sighs, and settles into Paul. "We will, won't we Paulie?" he asks, needing his best mate's reassurance. "It's not over. Right? Cyn's got her family, they'll help her. She doesn't need me there all the time. I can still be a Beatle, still be part of us. Right?"

'"Course," Paul agrees, "Couldn't very well be Beatles without our Johnny, now, could we?" And really, it's just as simple as that - it wouldn't be Beatles without John.

"My fucking group, Paul." Even in the depths of misery and clinging need, the need to assert that claim is strong within him. It's his group. He brought them all together, after all.

At another time, Paul might argue the point, just for the sake of arguing. Right now, though, is not the time, he knows. Instead, he rubs his chin across the top of John's head and asks, "Who said it wasn't, hey?"

John shakes his head, rolling it against Paul's shoulder. "Just sayin', Paulie." He lapses into silence, hands resting on Paul's arms as they hold him. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd pitch yourself out the window," Paul jokes gently, giving his friend a squeeze, "I've just saved your life, you know. Now you owe me, Lennon!"

John chuckles, turning his head to peer up at Paul. "You maybe just have, Macca," he acknowledges. "But I'll be buggered before I owe you anything!"

Unable to hide his grin, Paul gasps playfully, batting his eyelashes. "Why, is that a _pass_ , Johnny!?"

John laughs loudly at that, wrapping his arms around Paul and hugging him. "Well, I _have_ heard you in action, Paul." He puts on a falsetto. " _Oh God, oh God Paul, yes, there, right there, oh yes..._ "

Snorting with laughter himself, Paul shakes his head. "You _would_ have been listening!" he teases, "Bloody pervert!"

"It's hard to miss from the next bloody bed." He looks up at Paul curiously. "You must have heard me too, Paul."

"Oh sure," Paul agrees easily, tipping his head down so he can look back at John, the teasing grin still in place, "Like you said, hard to miss."

Later, in the middle of the night, John will blame the alcohol, the stress, just the moment itself, but somehow, this one time Paul grins at him, he loses control of his hand and he watches, as if from outside his own body, as it reaches up and his finger runs across Paul's lower lip.

He'll never know why he didn't pull away, always wonder what it was in John's gaze that kept him there, but Paul doesn't move. He accepts the touch without comment, just looking into John's eyes.

John stretches his neck, puts his lips on Paul's, marvelling at the softness of them.

Paul can taste the alcohol and cigarettes on John's breath, making note of it with that one small part of his brain that observes everything but doesn't get involved. It's just a small movement, but Paul's arms tighten fractionally, mouth pressing that tiniest bit harder against John's.

When Paul responds, John does too, mouth pressing harder. One part of his brain is trying frantically to get his attention, jumping up and down, waving arms in the air, shouting at him to stop. Another part is shrugging; it's only Paul, after all. The main part, though, the part that's running this little operation, is noting how good Paul's mouth feels, how comfortable it is to be in his arms, how _natural_ this feels.

With the smallest sound up in the back of his throat, Paul parts his lips slightly. For him, other than that small observer in the back of his head, there's no thought going on at all. Every thought process (other than wonder at how _good_ John's lips feel against his) is just shut down.

John's hand slides up and cups Paul's face - and just when did he lose control of his hands? - his mouth opening with Paul's. Instinct takes over and he slides his tongue against Paul's lips, asking for entrance.

Opening his mouth easily (eagerly almost) under John's, Paul splays his hands on John's back, pulling him closer.

John goes with it, inching closer to Paul. His tongue slips into Paul's mouth, tasting him, exploring, and he lets out a little moan of pleasure.

It's like that moan short-circuits something in Paul's brain. With a rough groan, he rubs his tongue lewdly against John's, chest pressed tight to chest now.

_Jesus._ John's prick throbs and he shifts to rub it against Paul's hip. He moans again, the friction feeling bloody fantastic. He moves again, preparing to climb on top of Paul, when his brain suddenly clicks back in and he realises just exactly what he's doing. He breaks the kiss, hands now on Paul's chest pushing him back and away. He scrambles to put some space between them, eyes wild as he looks at Paul, speechless at what they've just done.

Panting for air, Paul just sits there staring at John and licks over his bottom lip. The glassiness in his eyes slowly comes back to focus, though, and with it, a look of confusion and dawning horror. "Johnny?" he rasps, voice husky with the want that's still driving through him, though it's obvious he doesn't know what to do about it.

John shakes his head at Paul, no idea what to say to him. "Sorry," he finally mutters, pushing to his feet. "I didn't... sorry," he says again, and then he's on his way to the door and on out, getting almost to the bottom of the stairs before he collapses, curled up in a ball, hands crossed over his stomach, misery written across his features.

For a long time, all Paul can do is stare at the still-open door where John had disappeared. "Bloody fucking hell," he finally whispers, going and closing the door, head thumping against it.


	2. Business As Usual?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the fantastic Rhoste.

The last couple of days have been a blur of drunkenness and miserable hangover for Paul. Even so, all he can think about is the kiss. Obsessively, he's turned it over and over in his mind - the whiskey on John's breath, the supple strength of his lips, the slick heat of his tongue - and he's been alternately horrified and turned-on. Even now, on his way to meet John for some writing/rehearsing, he's utterly conflicted, not sure _what_ to think or feel.

"Know what you should be feeling, mate," he tells himself, taking a drag off his cigarette, "Should be feeling ashamed of yourself for letting it go on like that, not stopping..."

John is pacing the small living space of his flat, waiting for Paul. The only sleep he's had for the last two days has been when he's passed out from the drink. Cynthia's been on at him, all tears and sorrow thinking it's because of her. Truth is, Cyn and the sprog are the last things on his mind - that at least he knows how to deal with. Kissing Paul, though? No fucking clue.

And it was he who kissed Paul, not the other way around. He could put it down to the drink, definitely. Although, he's been drunk around Paul so often it's almost his natural state, so that doesn't wash. He could blame Cyn getting knocked up, and, yeah, he had been looking for comfort so maybe there's truth in that. The thing he can't put aside, though? The thing that scares him stupid? He wants to do it again. And this time, he doesn't want to stop.

 _Well, nothing for it._ When he can't possibly delay any longer, Paul drops his cigarette and crushes it out with the toe of his boot. Hitching his guitar a little higher on his shoulder, he takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs to John's, pausing again before he finally makes himself rap on the door.

What's he gonna say? _Fuck!_ What's he gonna _do_!? Truth is, Paul still doesn't know what to think about the whole mess because he knows, on some deep, hidden, unacknowledged level, that he liked it. More than liked it. Gets hard just thinking about it. _Fuck!_

John starts when he hears Paul's distinctive knock. He stands just the other side of the door, hand on the doorknob, trying to calm the fuck down enough to act normally around Paul. Finally, shaking his head at himself, he opens the door. "Paul," he nods, standing aside to let Paul in.

"John," Paul doesn't mean it to come out as short as it does, doesn't mean to sound tetchy. He can't seem to help himself, though. Just standing there at the door, thinking about _it_ and he's half-hard in his jeans. _And fuck you, Lennon, anyhow! For getting my mind this way!_

John's mouth twists, eyes watching Paul. He can't decide if Paul is upset or defensive or... well, he thinks those two are probably the most likely possibilities. He lights another cigarette, stalling while he thinks about what to say next. "Tea?" There. That's nice and safe.

Setting his guitar down, Paul lights a cigarette of his own and nods. "Yeah," he says, unable to turn more than profile to face John, "Tha'd be great." That'd be normal. And with nothing in the entire world feeling normal right now, Paul's willing to grasp at it.

Christ, Paul won't even look at him. He's really bollocksed things up. Shaking his head he moves into the tiny kitchen, filling the kettle from the tap and putting it on the gas before getting down a couple of white mugs and emptying the old tea out of the pot. "So, good day?" he asks, determined to put on a normal front if it kills him.

"Oh sure, yeah," Paul puffs away at his cigarette, still not able to meet John's eyes, though he does move closer in to the little kitchen. Leaning in the doorframe, he watches John's hands as he gathers the tea things. _Artistic hands._

"Yeah?" John can't help the look of surprise at that, followed by a frown. How could Paul possibly have had a good day after _that_. He darts a look at Paul, then relaxes. Paul's got that pinched I don't want to talk about it look on his face, which means he's no more dealing well with this than John is. He looks at Paul properly then. "Tell us about it then."

Pulled out of his reverie by John's question, Paul's eyes dart up to John's face in confusion. "Hmm? What?"

"Your good day," John replies, voice flat. "You said you had a good day, like, I don't know, you had nothing on your mind. Carefree as always, right Paulie?" Now his voice is raised and his hands are starting to shake, the lack of sleep not letting him hide anything. "Nothing to think about, worry about. Just pretty happy Paul. Business as usual."

The blood slowly drains from Paul's face as John’s words hammer at him. "Yeah," he finally rasps, turning and starting back over towards his guitar again, "Business as usual."

John nods, face set hard as stone, focusing on preparing the tea. "Must be nice," he mutters.

Having turned back again after only a few steps, Paul hears John's words. "Nice," he can't stop the desperate, bitter laugh or hide the haunted look that creeps into the backs of his eyes, "Oh yeah, Johnny, it's fuckin' _great_!"

"Well, you're the one fucking carrying on like there's nothing happening here, Paul," John shoots back, the anger in his voice masking the fear. "Like this is just a normal afternoon of writing. Hmm, what shall we write about today? How about how we're just great fucking poofters? That'll thrill the birds, make 'em cream their knickers." And he can't believe he just said that, feels like the words are just sitting in the air between them, taking on a life of their own. But, for better or worse, they're out now and there's no going back.

"What else am I supposed to do, Johnny!?" Paul demands, breath panting, sharp and angry, almost-panicked. No, ignoring it won't make it go away - it'll always be there between them, won't it? "There is nothing happening! It happened, fine. But _now_ there's _nothing happening_ , Johnny! Nothing!" And why does saying that make him feel dead inside?

John's silent for a long, long minute, staring at the floor. Then he nods. "Right then. Best get on with the writing," he says, as if everything is back to the way it was three days ago. He hands Paul a cup of tea and moves past him, careful not to touch, to get his guitar and sit on the couch

Speechless at John's reaction, Paul takes the cup without even thinking. He just stands there, staring as John calmly settles himself. "Aren't--" hating the small and, to his own ears, meek sound of his own voice, Paul clears his throat and starts again, trying for more forceful but only managing to sound desperate. "Aren't you going to keep fighting me?"

Eyes focused now only on his guitar, not daring to meet Paul's eyes, John shrugs. "You said nothing's happening now, Paul. If that's the way you want it, then there's nothing to talk about." He glances up at Paul then back down again. "If that's what you want."

"Isn't that what you want?" Paul asks, voice barely above a whisper. He moves into the room, standing in front of John, still clutching the plain ceramic mug, like a talisman. "If nothing's happening, there's nothing to say we're poofters and nothing to worry about. Isn't that what you want?" There's a pleading note in Paul's voice, begging John to just _look_ at him, "Johnny?"

"You should have stopped me, Paul. I was drunk. You should have stopped me." John doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to see whatever's happening in Paul's eyes. Those eyes, so beautiful, so expressive. Paul can never hide anything he's feeling and John just doesn't want to know. If they can just get back to where they were, if they can just forget... but he doesn't think he can.

It's Paul's turn to drop his eyes, to stare blindly down into his mug of tea. "I know," and he doesn't even care anymore how broken it sounds.

That note in Paul's voice gets John's full attention, and he's on his feet before he realises. "No. I don't mean it. It wasn't you. It was me. I'm..." He turns his back, then turns again. "I don't know what happened, Paul." He bites his lip and looks at his feet, then back up at Paul. His voice is quiet as he adds, "I'm not sorry."

"No, you're right," Paul's shaking his head, talking on top of John, "I should have--" It's like the 'I'm not sorry' hits him between the eyes, though, like a physical blow. Head jerking up, eyes seeking and locking onto John's, Paul just stares deep for a long minute. Whatever he sees there has him relaxing a fraction, one corner of his mouth pulling up in just the barest of curls. "No?" he asks gently, the earlier, bitter tone gone now, "Could've fooled me."

John shrugs one shoulder. "Sorry if it's ballsed us up, yeah. Sorry if we can't talk the way we used to." Eyes holding Paul's he gives a small, quick, tight smile. "Not for the rest."

Without letting himself stop to think about what he's doing, Paul takes the step that'll close the distance between them and leans in, pressing his mouth against John's. It feels like his heart's about to pound its way right out of his chest.

John makes a small noise of surprise, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he kisses back, tongue pressing against Paul's lips, begging for entrance. He was right - it really is good, this kissing Paul thing. It wasn't just the drink or the despair making it seem so. The noise in his head quiets as the kiss continues, the panic and the fear all just seem to fade away and all that matters to him right now is Paul, and this kiss.

Paul opens his mouth, tongue sliding eagerly over John's, inviting. With a soft groan, he reaches up to hold the back of John's head and deepen the kiss. Of course, since he's still holding his cup, all Paul manages to do is slosh tepid tea over the both of them. "Fuck!" he gasps, tearing his mouth away from John's to stare at the wet stain spreading down both their fronts. There's no help for it, he starts to laugh, to _giggle_ at how absurd everything is and how _exhilarated_ he feels.

The giggle startles John almost as much as the dousing with tea, and he pushes back from Paul. "Think it's funny, Paul? Something to be laughed at, giggled over?" His tone is clear, hurt and anger, a touch maybe of wistful sorrow that Paul would be laughing at him and what they're doing. He wishes he hadn't taken the chance - but it was Paul who had made the first move this time. Had he misread the intent, taken it for real when Paul was seeing it as some sort of joke?

First thing, Paul turns and puts his barely-half-full cup down on the rickety little end table before turning back to John. He steps right in again, hands resting on John's shoulders, not letting John keep him away. The smile is softer now as Paul looks into John's eyes. "Yeah, Johnny, I think it's something to laugh about. Haven't you ever been so happy, all you could do was laugh?"

"You're happy?" John asks, not quite believing his ears. "About," and he waves a hand between them, "this?"

"Don't know that I'd say I was happy _about_ this," Paul shrugs, squeezing John's shoulders, "But I am happy. Scared right the fuck to death," he goes on, "'Bout what it means, what's going to happen now... But happy." _Because, no matter anything else, you haven't pushed me away. Not really. Not yet._

John considers that, then nods. "Yeah. Me too." He grins. "Christ, Paulie, what have we done?"

Laughing softly, Paul shakes his head. "Just yet?" he asks, eyes twinkling, "Not much of anything." Suddenly more serious, he runs his hands down the outsides of John's arms, "And if that's how you need things to stay, love, it's--I'm--" Paul sighs and finishes in a whisper, "It'll be all right, yeah?"

That's exactly what John needs to hear and he tugs Paul in closer to him. "Or, we could do it again, without the panic and the hot tea," he says softly, pausing for just a second to give Paul time to object before he places his mouth on Paul's once more.

Far from objecting, Paul tightens his hands on John's arms, smiling against his mouth. _Or we could do it again_ , he agrees silently, And again and again...


	3. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the always-delightful Rhoste.

"D'you want some biscuits, too?" Paul calls out as he puts the kettle on. They'd been writing for nearly two hours when he'd finally put his guitar aside and announced that he was going to make tea. The truth is, he couldn't sit there any longer, nose-to-nose with John, staring at his mouth, without wanting to cover it and possess it with his own. Putting together a nice tea tray is an easy excuse for getting enough distance between them that Paul can get a measure of self-control back...before he fuckin' _pounces_ John right then and there!

"No, tea's fine," John calls back, distracted by the way Paul had almost bolted from the room. He doesn't know if there's something wrong, if he's done something to upset Paul. He thinks back over the past couple of hours, the two of them sat on the sofa, face to face, playing their music. It had been fab, the way it always was with them, looking into each other's eyes while they sing about love. Of course, that has a different meaning now, now that they'd started kissing. He shakes his head, realising he's just driving himself crazy trying to second-guess Paul so he sets his guitar aside and heads to the kitchen.

Just turning to ask whether John would prefer something else, Paul nearly steps right into the man himself. "Ah--" he stammers, pulling up short. Nothing else comes out of his mouth after that, though. John's close proximity has Paul's throat feeling thick and dry, not to mention the fact that his entire attention is once more fixed entirely on John's mouth.

John stares at Paul, trying to think of something to say. He shakes his head again, then takes a half-step in and pulls Paul into his arms. "What are we doing, Paulie? Pretending? You don't want to kiss me any more, that's fine, but seems to me you've been enjoying it as much as I have."

Paul's hands flutter for a moment before settling on John's shoulders, but then they're instantly up again, showing his inner turmoil as they rake through his hair. Finally, he gives in and settles his arms around John's waist, effectively pining John's arms around him. Closing his eyes, Paul leans his forehead against his best mate's.

"I have been enjoying it," the admission comes soft, after a long moment of silence. Paul doesn't open his eyes as he goes on, "And I do want to keep doing it. That's the problem, Johnny--" Finally, he looks into John's eyes, "I don't want to stop kissing you...it's all I think about..."

"Good then," John answers, leaning in to take Paul's mouth with his. It still feels a little weird, the rough feeling of Paul's unshaven scruff against his own, the muscles of the arms around him, the substitution of whiskey and tobacco for the more familiar tastes of lipstick and chewing gum, but he's rapidly becoming addicted to the change. And, more importantly, to Paul.

With a soft sound of surrender, Paul leans into the kiss. Hand coming up to cup the back of John's neck, he instantly tilts his head, mouth opening and tongue darting out to deepen it.

Arms tightening around Paul, John pulls him in closer, their bodies tight together. Tongue dancing with Paul's he's become very aware of the reaction of his prick, something that a week ago had him running in the opposite direction. Now it's familiar, and he's willing to admit, to himself at least, that he's looking forward to wanking to images of Paul.

Without giving a second thought as to what he's doing, Paul turns them enough so that he can push John back against the cabinet. He gives a guttural little groan at the almost electric shock that shoots through him when their pricks grind together, hot and needy.

"Fuck, Paul," John moans, hands sliding down to Paul's ass and pulling him against him. "What are you doing to me?"

"Ssshh," Paul shushes desperately, eyes screwed shut, hand tightening on John's hip as he thrusts against him again, "Just--let me...please, Johnny..."

John does as he's told, burying his face in Paul's neck and giving in to the sensations sparking through him. His prick is hard and aching and if they keep this up much longer he'll come in his jeans, but it just feels so fucking good that he doesn't really give a fuck about that.

Paul humps against John for another few seconds, breath coming hot and panting against the his throat and shoulder. Then, moving in almost slow-motion, he moves his hand from John's hip. Pulling back just enough to get his hand in between them, Paul rests his fingers on John's fly, eyes searching for John's.

"Fuck, Paulie, yeah, do it," John moans, the very idea of Paul's hand _there_ making him impossibly harder. Then curiosity gets the better of him and he mirrors Paul's movement, his hand on Paul's zip. "You too?" he asks, licking suddenly dry lips.

"Yeah," Paul gasps, head bobbing a nod, "God, Johnny, yes!" That's when he finally gets John's zip down. Hand trembling slightly, Paul reaches inside, biting his lip around a groan at the heat there.

John rests his forehead on Paul's shoulder, looking down at Paul's hand slid inside his jeans. "Jesus, Paulie," he moans, opening Paul's jeans and pulling out his prick. It's a familiar feeling, only not. Like his own when he's wanking, but very definitely not. This is Paul, Paul's prick in his hand and it's smooth and hard and hot and the wrist action is normal and it's all so damn overwhelming that all he can do is moan Paul's name again.

Paul can't look - if he looks, he won't be able to hang on, John's hand on him is just too good. Instead, he turns and presses his mouth to John's throat, loving the salty taste of skin as he licks. "John--" he murmurs, mouth trailing up towards John's ear, "Johnny...fuck!"

John huffs a shaky laugh. "Maybe later," he quips, then moves his head just enough that he can kiss Paul, tongue pushing into Paul's mouth. That's it, then, all he can take, and his body spasms, hand tightening on Paul's prick as he comes.

_Shit! Shit, fuck!_ Paul jerks against John, unable to keep his orgasm at bay when John's hand squeezes him like that. His free hand tightens into a fist in John's hair as he sucks on John's tongue, muffling their cries.

The tug on his hair makes John jerk, his spent cock giving a feeble twitch, but he's lost in Paul's mouth and ignores everything else. He wraps both arms around Paul and holds him close, making no move to end the kiss.

That's just fine by Paul. As far as he's concerned, he could spend the rest of the day snogging John. "Mmmm," humming under his breath, Paul murmurs, lips brushing against John's, "Taste so good, love..."

"Mm hmmm," John agrees, kissing Paul once more. He laughs and leans back against the wall, head thumping against it. "Jesus, Paulie, who'd've thought, yeah?"

Still flushed with his recent orgasm, eyes flashing with humor, Paul lifts an eyebrow. "Thought what, John-love?" he asks with mock-innocence. Paul suppresses the flash of discomfort that nips at him. They're not queer. How can it be queer when it feels so... _right_?

John looks into Paul's eyes, smiling at the almost joke. He sees the flash, the worry, but ignores it. If they keep it light they don't have to do anything about it, right? "Thought you could do me so good, mate. You've got a talent there, love."

"Well, nobody knows you like I do, Johnny," Paul grins, playing along and sending his voice up into falsetto, eyelashes batting extravagantly.

John laughs. "Too bloody true," he agrees. He lets go of Paul long enough to stuff himself back in his jeans, tucking Paul back in his as well. He feels like there are words that need to be said here, but he doesn't really know what they are. Instead he gives Paul a pat on the ass and says, "Kettle's boiled, Paulie. Time for some tea."

\-----------------------

Despite John's dismissal, Paul goes ahead and dumps some biscuits on a plate to take back out and have with their tea. Despite the initial air of teasing relaxation, however, Paul quickly falls quiet. That first flash of discomfort grows into an icy lump that settles in the pit of his stomach, turning his focus more inward as the seconds tick by.

John hasn't been able to settle in the small sitting room, pacing around the limited space, casting uneasy glances back to the kitchen. It had been good, no question, and clearly they had both felt that way - neither one of them had tried to stop it, after all - but, what does it all mean? In the days since they'd first kissed there had been a few snogging sessions but they'd never gone this far.

Eventually, the constant movement pulls Paul's attention and he glances up. "Johnny," the name comes out a hoarse whisper and Paul clears his throat, trying again, "Johnny?"

John stops in his tracks, gaze fixed now on the kitchen and what he can see of Paul. "Yeah?" he replies.

Suddenly at a loss for words, Paul flushes, his gaze dropping to the quickly-cooling cups in front of him. Finally, he just blurts, "Tea's ready," and quickly puts the cups and plate of biscuits on a tray, bringing them out and setting it on the little table by the sofa. His eyes never lift from his hands.

The way Paul won't look at him makes John's chest twist. He reaches out a hand to touch Paul, but pulls it back before it connects. Instead he takes a cup of tea, murmuring a quiet 'thank you'.

When the quiet's stretched the tension out between them so taut he thinks he might snap, Paul finally looks over at John. "I'm not sorry," he says, deliberately repeating John's words after that first kiss back to him. And yeah, his eyes may be a little too wide and his cheeks may be a little too flushed and his breath may be coming a little too fast...but it's obvious by the flash in his eyes that Paul means it.

"Never sorry, Paulie." John flashes him a quick, tight smile, taking in the look in his eyes. And then it's not really a conscious decision on his part at all, but he's putting down his tea and taking the two steps over to Paul, pulling him into his arms. "Don't ever be fucking sorry for this, Paul. Ever."

There's no hesitation as Paul wraps his arms around John, noting again how _right_ he feels there. "I won't," Paul promises quietly, leaning in to press a soft, chaste, closed-mouth kiss to John's lips, as if sealing his words.

John closes his eyes, just holding Paul for a long, long while. Eventually, he presses a kiss to Paul's cheek and steps back, reaching for his tea. He makes a face when he takes a sip. "Cold," he says, shrugging one shoulder. He huffs out a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair and looks at Paul. "What d'you think it means, all this?" he asks, figuring they might as well get the talking over with.

Not even bothering to pick up his own cup after seeing that reaction, Paul starts a slow pacing in front of the sofa. Arms crossed over his chest and chewing on his thumbnail, he's once again 'not looking' at John. "I dunno, Johnny," Paul finally sighs, feet slowing before he finally rambles to a stop. "Think we're queer now?" the words come soft, almost timid - Paul trusting John enough to tip his hand and show his fear.

John snorts denial. " 'm not fucking queer, Paul. And don't you go around saying we are. Brian gets wind of that and I won't be able to move for him following me around." He gets a look at Paul's face and shakes his head, continuing more gently. "I think it's just... you and me, Paulie. You... I..." He heaves a sigh. "Nobody else makes me feel like this, makes me want to do," he waves a hand, "that."

"No one?" Paul asks, risking a look up into John's eyes. The sudden need to hear John confirm it - the vulnerability that need brings up - is a little disconcerting to Paul. Confidence and self-assurance have never really been a problem for him, after all.

"No one," John repeats. He meets Paul's eyes. "I don't know what this is, Paul. I don't know why, after all these years we've been living in each other's back pocket suddenly all I can think about is your mouth and the way it makes me feel. But it's definitely only you."

Unwilling to drop John's gaze, Paul says quietly, "I have _never_ been as-- _obsessed_ with a bird as I am with you." A brief pause follows this admission and Paul reaches up to rub a hand over the hair at the back of his neck. "What's going on, Johnny?" he asks, shaking his head, "What're we gonna do?"

"I don't know," John answers, agony clear in his voice. If they continue doing what they're doing, what he _wants_ to be doing, then how does he deny he's a poofter? But to stop... "What do you want to do, Paulie?"

Really, when it comes down to it, that's maybe the easiest thing in the world for Paul to answer. "I want you," one shoulder lifts in a small, helpless shrug, "I just want you, Johnny."

John lets out a breath, chest loosening for the first time since he had done up his jeans earlier. "I want you, too, Paul. For whatever this is, I want you."

"And--this--" Paul gestures between himself and John, "This is just _us_ , just John and Paul."

"Nobody else," John agrees. "I've, God, Paul, I've never even looked at another bloke like that, let alone thought of doing... you know."

A shaft of fierce possessiveness suddenly stabs through Paul and he steps in close to John, grabbing him by the back of the neck. "Don't! No other man, John!"

The way Paul's gripping his neck sends an unfamiliar shiver down John's spine, followed by an increasingly familiar twitch from his cock. His only response though is a short sharp nod and two words. "Promise, Paul."

Tugging, bringing John's mouth closer, Paul repeats back, "Promise, John." And then he's kissing John, mouth open and demanding, wanting.

John meets the kiss, his own mouth opening under Paul's, inviting him in. He wraps his arms around the younger man, pulling him as close as possible, need matching need.

"Johnny!" Paul groans, hands tightening involuntarily as he presses into John. Just a slight shift and he slips a thigh partially between John's legs, wanting more, closer; like he wants to split his skin and just pull John all the way inside him.

"Christ, Paul, you'll have me going again," John moans, pressing against Paul's thigh.

"Mmmmm," Paul's voice drops to a near-purr as he teases, "Hair-trigger, eh, Johnny?" Of course, he accompanies this with a demanding thrust of his hips against John's.

John laughs. "Where you're concerned, seems so, love. This is just for you, too." He takes Paul's mouth again, groaning as he does.

Echoing John's groan with one of his own, Paul coaxes John's tongue into his mouth so he can suck on it.

He gets no argument from John, who is more than willing to have a second go at their earlier activities. His hands slide down to Paul's ass and he squeezes, enjoying the way it feels in his hands.

Paul's knees nearly buckle as their cocks grind together. He runs both hands up into John's hair, holding his head as he trails kisses from his mouth and up across his cheek. "So beautiful..."

"Fuck, Paulie, just... let's just get the kit off, yeah?" His hands fumble at Paul's shirt. "I want to be naked with you."

_Naked with you_ Those words stutter through Paul's system in delicious little shocks. "Yes!" he whispers, pressing his mouth to John's, letting his words be their own kisses, "Yes, John!" Without a second thought, Paul lets his hands trail down until he's tugging at the hem of John's shirt, now just as desperate for skin as John.

John lets go for a moment, just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and do the same with Paul's. He tosses them both aside, running his hands over Paul's skin before bending his head to taste it.

"Fuck!" Paul hisses, breath stuttering in short panting gasps, "Fuck, Johnny! God!" As if with a mind of their own, Paul's hands start to roam, exploring new yet entirely familiar skin.

Completely taken with the taste of Paul's skin, John continues to explore. He makes note of the little places that make Paul jump, make the muscles quiver, or, in a couple of cases, reward him with a soft breathy almost-moan. He's so caught up in what he's doing that he doesn't really notice that he's sunk to his knees until his mouth comes up against the waistband of Paul's trousers. "Off," he says, lifting his head just enough for the one word before licking his way across Paul's belly.

Quiver? There are a couple of times John's mouth nearly brings Paul to his knees! As soon as he hears the demand to take his trousers off, though (delivered basically into his cock as it is!), Paul removes his hands from where they'd threaded into John's hair and starts scrabbling at his fly. Of course, there's no stopping the thready moan at the feel of John's mouth so, _so_ close to his prick.

As soon as Paul's got his trousers undone John's helping him pull them down and off, kissing and licking at newly revealed skin, ignoring the prick bumping against his cheek. "Christ, Paulie," he moans. "Have you always tasted this good?" His hands slide ups Paul's thighs. "And felt this good? I should've had you naked years ago."

Paul reaches for John again, restlessly petting over his head and shoulders (what he can easily reach at the moment). "'F I'd thought I'd have got this reaction," Paul rejoins, giving a chuckle that's got more than a little groan in it, "I'd have laid myself out for you long before now."

John's hands are on their way to Paul's ass when those words penetrate and he stops cold. The image of Paul, laid out on the bed for him to take his pleasure is mind-numbing. He pulls back, looking up at Paul and, voice suddenly hoarse, croaks, "Bed. Now."

As soon as he senses John looking up, Paul looks down, meeting his gaze. A flare of heat streaks straight through him when he sees the twin flash in John's eyes, knowing exactly what his friend is thinking. Without a word, Paul takes a half-step back, holding a hand out for John.

John stands, taking Paul's hand and moving with him to the small bedroom at the back of the flat. He has no fucking idea what's going to happen in there; all he knows is he _wants_ , wants everything Paul will let him have.

As they approach the bed, Paul pauses, turning to trace his free hand down John's chest to rest, fingers brushing just inside the waistband of his jeans. "You too, Johnny," Paul's whisper is husky as he leans close, breathing the words across John's mouth, "Off."

John just nods a response, unceremoniously kicking off his trousers to stand naked with Paul. He wraps a hand around Paul's neck, pulling the other man in for a fierce biting kiss, all this frightening _need_ expressing itself. When he finally pulls back, breathing ragged, he jerks his head towards the bed. "Now, Paulie. Go lay yourself out for me."

Face flushed and eyes glassy with arousal, Paul catches John's gaze and holds it. Never dropping that eye contact, he backs up onto the bed, reaching behind him to pull the pillow up under his head and shoulders, propping them up. For all that he's on-edge about doing this for a bloke (doing this for _John_ ), the sprawl is remarkably natural as Paul lies there, legs spread slightly, one hand moving unselfconsciously to palm over his aching prick.

The sight of Paul, _Paul!_ laid out for him, hard and needy, is overwhelming. John closes his eyes just to slow down the sensory overload, but he can't resist and he opens them again, gazing hungrily. His hand reaches out and rests on Paul's ankle, circling it, and then he's following, climbing onto the bed and following that hand all the way up Paul's body until he comes to rest face-to-face with his friend - _partner? lover? boyfriend?_ \- chests and legs and pricks touching, naked skin everywhere, and he buries his nose in Paul's neck and inhales deeply.

That first touch has Paul giving a little jump, and by the time John's up next to him, there's a slight tremor in his hands as they slip around John's waist. He rubs his his cheek against John's hair, loving the way it tickles at his skin. "Johnny..." Paul whispers softly, shifting slightly and hissing at how their bodies rub together with it.

John shifts his head around just enough to nuzzle Paul's cheek. "I don't know..." he trails off into silence, unable to express his thoughts, incoherent as they are. He's never even thought before this week about lying like this with a bloke. He's made jokes about Brian, about fucking poofters, been grateful for the curves of Cyn's body and the way her pussy opens to him, inviting him in. He's heard how men do it, dirty little schoolboys giggling behind the garage, sharing a fag and talking about the filthiest things they can imagine, but here he is, naked and hard with his best friend and paralysed with fear. What if they're queer? What if he likes this better with Paul than with Cyn, with any woman? God, what if he does something wrong and Paul laughs at him? And with all that going through his head he's hyper-aware of Paul's body under him, Paul's hands on him, Paul's breath in his ear and he knows he can't give all this up. "Paul, kiss me, please," he whispers finally.

Without a word, Paul brushes his lips lightly across John's, back and forth, rubbing them gently together. And when that contact starts to drown the little voices of uncertainty and doubt roiling around in his own head, he leans in harder, licking at John's mouth. _Don't wanna think, Johnny..._

John takes the kisses gratefully, mouth opening to Paul's, inviting his tongue inside. It's what he needs to still the rising panic, clear it out and allow himself to just _feel_. He submerses himself in the kiss until finally he feels he can move on, head turning for his mouth to trail down Paul's neck, tongue tracing a path along his collarbone, skin which is beginning to feel familiar to his lips.

Eagerly, Paul slips his tongue into John's mouth, groaning as they slide slickly against one another. He lets his hands start to wander, fingertips ardent as he traces over the skin of John's back and sides, learning every inch. As John starts down his throat, Paul lets his lips trace up John's cheek and over, licking around the shell of his ear as soon as it's in range of his mouth.

John continues to slide, completely aware of Paul's erection the whole time, feeling it pressed against his own, then his belly, chest, until finally he's hovering right _there_. He pauses for a moment, wondering if this is the point where he crosses the line from fooling around to something serious, then sticks out his tongue and gives the tip of Paul's cock a hesitant lick, waiting for a reaction.

As John gets closer and closer to his prick, Paul's breathing comes harder and faster. By the time that tentative tongue licks out over him, Paul's just about ready to jump out of his skin. As it is, the warm, wet touch sends a hard shiver through him and he clutches at John's head. "Johnny!" he gasps, voice thready and breathlessly pleading, "Christ! Fuck!"

Well, that sounds positive, John thinks to himself, and licks again. The taste is different, new, but not unpleasant. And the way Paul's prick jerks when John touches it is fascinating. He thinks for a minute about what he likes, long slow licks up the shaft, a little teasing just beneath the head, the feel of lips closing over him, and gives them all a try, searching for the things that make Paul moan.

If it's sounds John's looking for, he certainly gets them. Paul doesn't hold anything back as John explores him, completely unashamed in the moment as he gasps and pants and groans in reaction to what John's doing. When John's tongue licks over the slit, Paul's back bows, nearly coming up off the bed. "Aaaah, fuck! Johnny! Yes, fuck!" he babbles, head thrashing back and forth on his pillow.

John lifts his head, grinning up at Paul. "So that's a yes, then?" he teases, before teasing the tip of his tongue into the slit again, relishing the reaction that gets him. There's precome now, a drop or two, and he licks those up, tasting Paul. He thinks maybe the taste is growing on him. Either that or he's so fucking turned on he doesn't care anymore, which may well be the case. He's practically humping the mattress, his own prick hard and aching. Time, he thinks, to move things along, and with that he opens his mouth and takes Paul in as far as he can, closing his lips over him, head starting to bob.

"Yes! Christ, yes!" Paul huffs, hands clenching and unclenching in John's hair, "Fuck, didn't I just say yes? Could've sworn..." Of course, when he feels John's mouth closing around him, words trail off into a garbled gurgle. There's no helping the jerk of his hips, thrusting a little deeper into John's throat. "Mmmph!"

The thrust in deeper is too much for John and he gags a little, pulling off hastily. "Stay still, Paulie," he says. "Let me." Then he tries again, taking Paul in more gingerly this time, hands pressing down on Paul's hips to remind him to stay still. The feel of hard cock on his tongue, the weight of it, the way it seems to swell in his mouth, is all very addictive, and he slurps away enthusiastically.

Paul obediently holds his hips still, but that doesn't stop his hands from their continual, encouraging petting over John's head and shoulders. "Johnny," Paul murmurs, eyes glittering as he looks down his body to see John's lips sliding up and down his cock, "Fuck! So good, love!" Or perhaps it's just that it's _John_...

John pushes up against Paul's hands, letting him know that he likes the way Paul's petting him, likes the way Paul touches him. He's got a rhythm now, sucking Paul's prick, and he doesn't want to lose it by pulling off to say anything. He wants to make Paul crazy, wants to hear the sounds he makes when he comes, wants to taste him. Even wants to swallow his come, although if you'd asked him about that an hour ago he'd have said you were off your head. 

Feeling John bumping his head up into his hands, Paul rubs a little harder, giving his hair a fretful little tug. It's real work now to keep from thrusting up into John's mouth, but Paul manages, just barely. He can't help the slight squirming, though. It just feels so _good_! "Johnny," Paul murmurs softly, giving John's hair another, more purposeful tug, "You--I'm--" There's no denying the heat starting to pool low in his belly.

John nods, hoping Paul understands that means he knows what Paul's trying to say, and he's okay with it. He hums gently around Paul's prick, knowing the vibrations will make him crazy, and continues his steady up/down motion, keeping up the friction, waiting for Paul to come.

There's not long to wait; that little hum is just the right stimulation to have Paul right there on the razor edge. With a high, desperate cry, Paul arches his head back, body stiffening as he feels release start to roll its way through him.

Oh, that response is glorious. Seconds after the cry John feels his mouth filling, He swallows as quickly as he can around Paul's softening dick. It's messy and noisy and he doesn't care at all. When he's pretty sure Paul's done he lifts his head and looks up at his friend. "Jesus Christ, Paulie. That was fucking sexy."

Paul pants, body still trembling with reaction at the force of his orgasm as he pulls at John's hair, insistent. "C'mere and kiss me, Johnny," he whispers.

John moves up the bed, hissing as his erection bumps Paul's thigh. When he reaches the top he grins at Paul, then covers Paul's mouth with his own, tongue licking inside, letting Paul taste himself on John's tongue.

_Aaah, bloody fucking hell!_ Groaning at the mixed flavour of himself and John, Paul sucks on John's tongue, hands grasping at skin as he pulls him closer.

John rolls into Paul, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it down to his own erection, hoping Paul will get the message. At the same time he sinks into the kiss, loving the sounds Paul makes and the way their tongues dance around each other, neither one wanting to end the kiss.

Paul doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He sets up a quick rhythm, wrist twisting at the top of each stroke as he kisses John. He may not be sure what this all means or where it's leading, but Paul can't deny how good it feels.

"Fuckin' hell, yes," John moans, hips bucking into Paul's fist. It doesn't take long before he's coming, orgasm rushing through him, groaning his release into Paul's mouth.

Pulling back slightly, Paul watches John's face, a little stunned at how beautiful it is in ecstasy...and by the way his heart thumps a little harder on seeing it. 

John grunts and rolls away from Paul, breathing ragged, sweat cooling on his body. "Jesus, Paulie, if that's being a fuckin' poofter, I'm in," he huffs a laugh, one hand stretching over to rest on Paul. "Because that was fucking genius."

There's a moment of silence before Paul starts to chuckle. He strokes his fingertips across John's palm and murmurs, the smile evident in his voice, "Daft queer..." Another few seconds of silence and then, tone softer and more musing, Paul goes on, "Was absolutely brilliant, though, wasn't it?"

"Absolutely," John agrees, hand closing around Paul's fingers. He rolls over to face Paul, afterglow lowering his defenses. "I don't know what this is, Paul. Don't have a fucking clue what it all means, for us, for me and Cyn, for anything. But I don't want to stop. Don't ever want to stop doing this, with you."

When John turns, so does Paul, so they're lying face-to-face. Unconsciously threading his fingers together with John's, Paul spends several moments looking into his friend's eyes. "I--" he starts softly, biting on his bottom lip before rushing out, "I don't want to stop either...don't think I _can_ stop now I've got a taste of you."

John laughs. "More like I got a taste of you, Paulie," he grins the turns serious again. "So, that's settled then, yeah? We don't stop. We both like it; nobody else needs to know anything about it. Deal?"

A small frown puckers up between Paul's brows and he squeezes John's fingers, needing to hold onto their connection. "You ashamed, Johnny?" he asks quietly.

"Not ashamed, Paul, no," John reassures him. "Just don't want to have to answer questions about things that are nobody's business but ours. Don't want Brian getting all hopeful, or George and Ritchie smirking at us. Just," he pulls Paul's hand over to his and kisses it, "want it to be us. You and me. Like... sanctuary."

"Sanctuary," Paul repeats, tasting the word in his mouth. Nodding finally, Paul lets the smile come back to his eyes, "My sanctuary." That's when it hits him - _I love you_. The thought bursts, sudden and whole and breathtaking into Paul's brain, his eyes widening and lips parting with the sudden wonder of it.

John's not sure what that look is, but it's very appealing and he can't help but lean in and kiss Paul. "A safe place. A private place. Just you and me, Paulie. Safe together."

Nodding, a bit of that stunned look lingering in the backs of his eyes, Paul pulls their clasped hands towards him, rubbing their knuckles against his cheek. "Yeah, Johnny," he whispers, heart swelling almost painfully, "Just you and me."


	4. Because It's Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with the wonderful, patient Rhoste.

What with gigs and the like it's a couple of days before Paul and John have a chance to be alone again. For the way Paul shoves John back against the door of his flat as soon as it's closed and attacks his mouth, though, you'd think it had been weeks.

"John," Paul groans, hands fumbling as he tries unsuccessfully to unbutton shirts without giving any space between them.

"Shut up and kiss me," John demands, mouth fastening on Paul's, hands helping him with the removing of clothes. He's been going crazy the last couple of days, the music taking all their time and what little it hadn't Cynthia demanding from him. He knows she has a right to his time but all he wants to do is this, being with Paul, kissing Paul, being naked with Paul. Being with Cynthia just doesn't hold the same appeal.

Paul doesn't argue, just slides his tongue across the seam of John's mouth, demanding entrance. To hell with the useless fumbling; after a couple of seconds, Paul just grabs John's shirt and undershirt in both hands, pulling them out of his trousers. Now he can get his hands on skin and he moans into John's mouth at the feel of it under his fingertips.

Mouth opening for Paul, John pulls the man closer to him, hands sliding down over denim-clad ass. He rolls his hips, grinding his rapidly hardening cock against Paul, groaning at the feel of him.

As he thrusts his tongue slowly in and out of John's mouth, Paul takes his time running his hands up John's back and then down. He tucks his fingers into the jeans waistband, rubbing over the upper swell of John’s ass as he thrusts back against him, head swimming at how good their pricks feel rubbing together.

_Fuck, this is incredible._ John's tongue plays with Paul's, tangling with it, reveling in the taste of him. He loves the way Paul's hands feel on him, and wants to feel Paul's skin too so he tugs at Paul's shirt, pulling it up and away so he can get his hands on him, moaning when he does.

Skin prickling up into gooseflesh as soon as he feels John's fingers brushing against him, Paul shivers and leans into him. "Fuck," he breathes in between kisses, "You're driving me mad." His meaning is more than clear as he thrusts against John, achingly hard.

"Mm hmmm," John moans agreement. He can feel Paul's prick pressing against him, and his own is pushing against his zipper, ready to be let free. He reaches for one of Paul's hands, placing it on his crotch, rocking into Paul's palm. "Feel what you do to me, Paulie. You make me so fucking hard."

A shaft of fierce satisfaction spears through Paul and he squeezes John's prick, rubbing the heel of his hand firmly against him. "Yeah, Johnny," as Paul talks, he's running his mouth down the column of John's throat, smiling against the skin there, "I can feel you, love."

John tilts his neck, giving Paul all the room he wants to do whatever he wants. He keeps his hand on Paul's, pushing it harder against him. "Christ, could come just from this," he moans.

"Yeah?" Paul's smile is still there against John's skin, "Just from this?" With those words, Paul bites down right at the join of John's neck and shoulder, hand rubbing just as hard as John wants it.

"Fuck yeah," John groans, the sting of Paul's teeth and the pressure on his prick making his whole body writhe against Paul's. "Fuck, Paulie, want you to touch me, yeah?"

"Mmmm," humming against John's throat, Paul nips again, licking over slightly-salty skin. He doesn't moves his head to look, just feels his way as he lets up on John's cock and moves his hand up. For once, Paul's as smooth as he wants to be; not fumbling with the fastening of John's trousers at all, just flicking it open, pulling the zip, and slipping his hand in.

John's head thumps back against the door, Paul's hand on his prick making his breath catch. He slides his hands around to Paul's ass, kneading and pulling Paul in impossibly closer. "Mm, s'good love."

"Like that?" Paul teases, though his breath comes fast, chest feeling tight as he starts to nuzzle his way down into the open throat of John's shirt, teeth grazing gently across skin, "How about this?" 

"God, yes," John nods, one hand coming up, digging into Paul's hair.

His hand still stroking lazily over John's prick, Paul chuckles and lifts his head back just a little. "Shirt off, Johnny," he says, fiery want burning hot in his eyes, "I want your skin."

John grins. "Anything you want, love. Anything you want." His hands move to undo a few more of his buttons, then just pull the whole - shirt and undershirt - over his head, tossing them aside. "You too, Paul."

Though he's reluctant to release John, Paul's just as eager for naked flesh. With an almost-inaudible sigh of regret, Paul slips his hand from John's pants. He only unfastens enough buttons to be able to, similarly, pulls his shirt and undershirt over his head. After that, Paul can't keep his hands from John's chest, mouth following as he bends his head to taste and worship.

Laying one hand gently in Paul's hair, John watches Paul's mouth tracking down his body. It's an incredible sight, and if his prick weren't already rock hard, this would only make it harder. His other hand strokes over Paul's back, feeling the muscles shift under the skin, tracing along his spine, fingers slipping into his waistband to tease at hidden skin.

Paul can't help the shiver that races through him when he feels John's hand teasing at him like that, so close to 'forbidden territory'. Breath hitching, he turns his head to brush his lips over the excited nub of a nipple, eager to know if it's something John likes as much as he does. Honestly, Paul's eager to know _everything_ that John likes, how best to please him. _Because I love him_ , his mind supplies as his tongue laps over pebbled flesh.

Arching into Paul's mouth, John moans. Fuck, but that feels good. He slides his hand out of the back of Paul's jeans and slips it in between their bodies, fumbling with Paul's button and zipper, pulling out his cock and stroking it gently, wanting to give Paul the same pleasure he's feeling.

"Mmmmm," Paul hums when John's hand closes around him, hips bucking into the touch, "So good, love." He has plans, but for the moment, he's enjoying his friend's (lover's?) touch too much to move on just yet.

"We both like that," John smiles, his own prick aching from the memory of Paul's hand on it. He bends his head to put his mouth next to Paul's ear. "Like the way it felt in my mouth, too, Paulie." Liked it so much, in fact, he's thought of little else for the last two days.

At those words, Paul feels heat flush through his while body. "Yeah?" he asks, voice gone rough with greed, "Like the way I tasted?" And just the thought of getting John into his mouth has Paul salivating - he _wants_ it.

"Loved the way it tastes, the way _you_ taste," John murmurs, voice low and dark. "Loved hearing the noises you made, the song you sang just for me."

"Christ, Johnny!" Paul moans, letting the the watery feeling in his legs carry him to his knees, "I've got to taste you--" His hands pushing at John's jeans, Paul nuzzles into his belly, "I've got to, love..."

There's no way John's going to say no to this. He smiles down at Paul, thumb rubbing over that full mouth of his, wondering what those lips will look like stretched around his prick. "Go ahead, love," he urges. "Let me feel your tongue on me."

Staring up at John with wide, dark eyes, Paul lets his thumb slip into his mouth. He sucks lightly at it as he finishes getting John's trousers pushed down his thighs and out of the way. When that scent rolls over him - musky, male, _John_ \- Paul's eyelids flutter for a second and he hums with pleasure.

Oh, that mouth! John's prick jerks with pleasure, his brain happily transferring the sucking on his thumb to suction on his dick. There's an added wave of tenderness at the look in Paul's eyes, the way he's so obviously happy where he is, doing what he's doing. _God, he's so beautiful._

After a few seconds of suction, Paul releases John's hand from his mouth, eye contact unwavering. "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he promises softly.

"You already have," John smiles, drowning in dark eyes, hand stroking roughly over Paul's hair.

"Johnny, I--" the words of love clog up in the back of Paul's throat. He just can't get them out, not yet. There's no mistaking the feeling, though; it's written there in his face, plain to read.

That look stops John cold. He knows what it is, has seen it before on Cynthia's face, and a wave of terror washes over him. He knows how easy it would be to reciprocate, to pour those words over Paul. Instead he coughs, puts a little smirk in his voice. "Right, love, show us what you've got then," he winks, nudging Paul to his very erect prick.

Paul can't help the relief that washes over him with John's cavalier little smirk. Even with the strength of the feeling running through him (or maybe because of it), he can't quite bring himself to verbalize it, and he's grateful for the distraction of the physical. Flashing John a smirk of his own, Paul doesn't waste any time leaning in and licking up the underside of his cock, letting the smell and taste and _feel_ of John flood through him.

John's moan is loud and heartfelt. His hand strokes through Paul's thick dark hair, eyes closing when his senses threaten to overload him. "Christ, Paulie," he swears softly, reverently. "Take me, please."

"Mmmm," Paul hums his agreement, tongue lapping over the head of John's prick. His look is more eloquent, eyes promising, _'Everything you give me, I'll take.'_

Swamped. Completely swamped. John can't really believe this is actually happening, is having trouble believing any of it is true. A couple of weeks ago he and Paul were just friends, chasing birds together and today his prick is very happily enjoying Paul's mouth. Everything else - Cyn, getting married, even the group - fades while that gorgeous mouth ministers to him.

The more John surrenders to the sensations assaulting him, the more powerful Paul feels. And with that heady sense of power rushing through him, Paul finally wraps his lips around John's prick, sucking aggressively at the head. He wants John's reactions, wants to hear them, _feel_ them.

"Fucking hell," John swears under his breath. The sight is making him damn near as crazy as the feel of Paul's mouth on him. His hips twitch, just a little, wanting to feel more as waves of pleasure roll through him.

At that twitch, Paul grabs John's hips with both hands, holding him there. He sucks John's prick slowly a little deeper into his mouth, relishing the feeling of fullness. Feeling the beat of a pulse against his tongue, Paul presses it up against that thick vein, wanting nothing less than to drive John insane.

"Holy fucking fuck!" The response is louder this time, John's hands moving to cover Paul's and tangle with them, resisting the urge to push hard against them with his hips. Instead he groans, long and low, prick thick and heavy.

The corners of Paul's eyes crinkle up, showing his smile at John's reaction. From that point, it's just one long experiment to see what he can do to get bigger and more profound reactions from John, and it's an experiment Paul throws himself into with abandon. He worships John's cock with his mouth and tongue, learning every inch of it and just what places are the most sensitive.

All John can do is surrender, prick twitching in Paul's mouth, balls tightening, lick of flame at the base of his spine. The way Paul enthusiastically takes him in, exploring him, makes him feel powerful and, somehow, worthy. It's an incredible feeling, one he doesn't want ever to stop, although... "Paulie," he gasps. "Close..."

When he hears that, Paul rolls his eyes upward, catching John's gaze. _Do it, Johnny--fuckin' **do** it!_ And, as if to underline the silent words he's giving John, Paul slides his lips as far down his lover's prick as he can, glorying in the feel of John filling his throat.

John catches his lip in his teeth, hands moving to dig in Paul's hair, trying to hold off. Finally he can't any longer and gasping out Paul's name he lets go, coming into Paul's glorious mouth.

_Yes!_ Paul exalts internally, swallowing convulsively as the salty, bitter liquid hits the back of his throat. His hands squeeze John's hips, massaging the flesh in an attempt to show how much he's loving this, how turned-on he is by this. _No bloody wonder you loved this, Johnny!_

Panting, John looks down at his lover - and, yes, he finds he's comfortable calling Paul that, if only in his head - and can't hold back the smile at what he sees. Paul looks happy and there's a light shining from his eyes. _Bloody gorgeous._

There's only one reaction Paul can give to the luminous smile that suddenly spreads across John's face. Without a thought, he stands up and presses their mouths together, kissing John with all the love and need pouring through him.

The kiss takes John by surprise but he welcomes it, mouth opening for Paul, tasting himself mixed up with the taste of the other man. It's strange, but more, it's exciting and sexy and he just can't get enough.

"Fuck, Johnny," Paul finally whispers into John's mouth, panting for breath, "You drive me off my head!"

John doesn't answer, just takes Paul's mouth with his again, one hand sliding down and encircling Paul's erection. He swipes his thumb over the head, gathering moisture, before starting to slide his hand, smooth even strokes, over velvet skin.

Paul's hands run up John's body before his fingers bury themselves in soft hair, making desperate fists as he devours John's mouth. Already, his hips pump in time to the movements of John's hand and Paul can't contain the groans those strokes bring up in the back of his throat. _Not gonna last long..._

God, the way Paul's kissing him, the noises he makes, the fists pulling at his hair, John doesn't think he'll ever get enough and wouldn't be at all surprised to find he was hard again. He tightens his hand, stroking faster, wanting to feel Paul's release, feel him surrender to John's touch.

Vision swimming with the incredible way it feels to have John so absolutely focused on him, Paul drops his head back, exposing his throat. "Oh, love," he pants, loving the way the fine sheen of sweat makes their bodies move slickly against one another, "Almost there..."

"Come on, then," John encourages, mouth moving to that gorgeous expanse of throat, nibbling along it. "Come all over me."

With how worked-up he is, any one of those things - John's teeth against his skin, hand on his prick, even just the sound of John's voice - could have sent Paul over. What actually does it, though, are the words John utters. _Come all over me..._ Just hearing that brings a rough groan up from deep in Paul's chest and his body jerks hard as he spills across John's hand and belly.

_Christ! That's perfect._ John continues to stroke until Paul's done, mouth open against Paul's throat, tasting his sweat. Finally, his hand stills, but he continues to stand the way he is, taking in the feel of Paul's body against his. When he finally stirs, it's to take Paul's mouth with his, a kiss full of all the emotion he's feeling but can't, yet, put into words.

Paul can barely hold himself up and doesn't even try, leaning against John. He lets the older man and the front door support him, drained in more than just body. It's like, in the last couple of weeks since they've started doing this, the world has turned upside-down...and finally makes sense.

Eventually John pulls back from the kiss, wiping one hand on Paul's jeans, the other through Paul's hair. His smile is tender, a little uncertain. "How does this feel so right?" he asks, almost to himself, afraid, maybe, of the answer, of what this all means.

_Because it **is** right_ , Paul's eyes seem to say. One hand cupping the side of John's neck, Paul rubs his thumb along the strong line of his lover's jaw. "Because it's us," Paul finally manages to verbalize, head dipping in so he can brush his lips softly over John's, shivering with, yes, the _rightness_ of it, "It's John-and-Paul..." There's a tiny, one-shoulder shrug, "And for us, it **is** right."

John's eyes soften, his smile widening, as he nods acquiescence. He's got a knocked-up girlfriend looking for a wedding and a group heading for the top of the charts and none of it matters while he's got Paul's arms around him.


	5. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the amazing Rhoste.

The look on Paul's face is killing John. Paul's trying to be merry, hoisting a glass and toasting the bride and groom, but there's a depth of misery in his eyes that John just doesn't think he can take any longer. All through the brief ceremony, the small dinner with just the group and Brian, the gig they had booked that night, and now as they have a few drinks before heading off home, all John has been able to think of is how he wants to be holding Paul in his arms and giving him some kind of reassurance that this changes nothing. Catching Paul's eye he nods towards the back door, then makes his excuses to Cyn and heads out to the alley behind the pub.

"I'll go keep an eye on him; have a smoke," Paul murmurs as he stands, getting a nod from George before heading out. Once he's outside, Paul turns towards the dark alley, knowing instinctively where John had gone. He pauses to light a cigarette when he rounds the corner, giving John a chance to see that it's him. 

Paul doesn't say anything, though. What can he possibly say? He can't even make sense of his own head! All day, it's been like there's this weight crushing his heart into smaller and smaller pieces. _Fuck!_ He hadn't thought it would be that hard to watch John marry Cyn.

John watches Paul approach, the lit end of his own cigarette glowing as he takes a drag from it. Once Paul gets close enough, he holds out one hand, fingers aching to feel Paul's skin under his. "I'm sorry," he offers quietly.

Though his first instinct - the frightened, self-preserving instinct - is to innocently ask John 'What for?', Paul doesn't insult his friend (lover? can he still call John that?) like that. Instead, he reaches out to twine his fingers through John's, answering just as quietly, "I know, love. So'm I."

Nodding, John pulls Paul closer, checking over Paul's shoulder to make sure nobody's followed him. "You know I had no choice, Paulie. I would never have married her if she weren't knocked up. But what could I do?"

"Sssshh, love," Paul soothes, dropping his half-smoked cigarette so he can cup the side of John's neck, thumb rubbing gently along his jaw as he presses their foreheads together. "I know," he murmurs softly, seeming to be trying to sooth himself as much as John, "It's all right, Johnny, I know. Sssshh..." Of course, inside, Paul's heart's squeezing tighter and tighter. _Shouldn’t be touching him like this...not allowed to touch him anymore...not mine..._

John hesitates no more than a second before he's tilting his head and kissing Paul. He loves Cyn, sure he does, and he'll see her right - his father made sure of that. He's got no respect for men who don't stick around - but he _wants_ Paul. Loves him too, although he's not sure if he means it in the same way. Not sure he doesn't either, mind you. Either way, he's not giving up this turn their relationship has taken, as fragile as it is.

There's no hiding the gasp that the first touch of John's lips brings and Paul can't control the way his body presses forward, into John's. "Johnny," he groans, all the shouldn'ts and can'ts flying right out of his head, leaving only John and love and want behind.

As soon as Paul presses against him, John wraps his arms around the other man, pulling him in tight. "Need you, Paul," he murmurs. "That's never going to change."

 _Promise me!_ Paul wants to demand, to beg. What he actually says though, is, "I need you." The words are accompanied by Paul shifting them so he's pushing John back against the brick. "Need you _now_ , Johnny!"

This is the last thing John thought he'd be doing on his wedding night, but there's no way he's going to turn Paul down, not when his own need is at least as great. "Fuck yes," he moans instead, hands going to Paul's belt and working on the buckle. He bends his head to kiss Paul again, fierce desire making him groan.

There are no more second thoughts; there's no room for them. Every thought, every sense is filled with John and Paul gives himself over to it. He opens his mouth under John's, their tongues tangling; and it's like he's trying to imprint himself on John, make his own claim, though it'll never be seen...not like the ring John had put on that morning.

John holds the kiss as long as he can, wanting to never stop. Finally, he needs air, but he doesn't move far from Paul, mouth finding Paul's neck. He breathes deeply, taking Paul into all his senses. His hands are still on Paul's now open belt, and there he pauses. "I owe her, Paul. I have to try and be there for her. But I won't leave you, won't stop this. Can you... _will_ you still have me?"

 _Will you still have me?_ How can he not? Paul's known for a long time that he feels most complete when he and John are together, but it's only now becoming apparent just how deeply that goes.

"I will, John," spoken with quiet solemnity, "Will you have me, too?"

"Christ, yes," John avers fervently. It's an echo of sentiments he's already expressed once today, but this time it's completely voluntary.

"Then kiss me, Johnny," Paul whispers, head already moving, lips searching for John's. _Let's seal this properly._

John does, letting himself sink into the kiss, into the feel of Paul's mouth, Paul's body, letting it wash away all the tension of the day. He's not sure when Paul became his sanctuary - sometime in Hamburg, he thinks - but being with Paul has always felt safe, like coming home.

When John's lips cover his, Paul feels his heart thud heavily in his chest. _I love you, Johnny,_ he thinks, one hand lifting to cup the back of John's neck, the magnitude of the vow they've just made to each other starting to sink in.

It's the hand on his neck that does it, that takes John from romance to lust. He knows he has Paul's words, his heart. Now he wants his body. Shifting, he wraps both arms around Paul and swings him around, pressing him up against the rough bricks of the wall. Keeping him there with his body, he fumbles again at Paul's jeans, pulling them open, grasping his cock. "Fuck, Paul, want you every way I can have you," he mumbles, lips just a breath away from Paul's.

The second Paul feels John turning them, feels that warm, solid body pressing into him, Paul loses any lingering sense of propriety, groaning wantonly. It's John's words, though, that have Paul's eyes glittering, his breath coming short and fast. "I promise you, Johnny," leaning in so their lips touch, the words kissed into John's mouth, "I want you every way you want me." And the way Paul's hands grasp desperately at John's ass give the truth to his words.

John grinds against him, reason thrown out the window. He doesn't care they're in public, that anyone, that Cynthia, his _wife_ could walk down the alley any moment. His senses are inflamed with the sound, feel, smell, taste of Paul. He presses his lips to the other man's, tongue sweeping through his mouth, claiming him, hand stroking his cock, wanting desperately to feel Paul come apart in his arms.

Groaning in the back of his throat when John's tongue invades his mouth, Paul pulls it in deeper, sucking hard. Even as his hips buck reflexively, shoving his cock into John's fist, Paul brings his own hands around, scrabbling at John’s fly. He's got to get his hands on John's prick _now_!

With an effort of great will, John stills his hips long enough for Paul to get his dick out, then presses back against him. Mouth still fused to Paul's, his free hand fists in his lover's hair, trying to pull Paul impossibly closer.

When he finally gets his fist around John's cock, Paul looses a soft sigh of satisfaction into his lover's mouth. Even though the tension's thrumming through him as John strokes him closer and closer to completion, Paul can't help the way he just melts into that beloved body, wanting nothing more than this - this closeness.

John groans, pleasure rolling through him. He can feel his balls starting to tighten, a lick of flame in his belly, Paul's hand working its magic on him. He pulls away from Paul long enough to demand, "Come for me, Paulie. Come _with_ me."

"Now!" Paul demands, John's words the last push he needs to send him over. Through teeth gritting with the effort of holding off long enough to say the words, he goes on, "You want me with you, come _now_!"

And that's all he's got. With a cry muffled by biting down on his bottom lip, Paul's head strains back against the brick wall behind him as he lets go, coming in John's hand.

 _Christ!_ Straining to keep his eyes open, to watch Paul through his climax, John's body shudders at the command, prick pulsing streaks of come over Paul's fingers. When he's done, his whole body trembling, he buries his face in Paul's neck, trying to drag air into his lungs.

Completely unmindful of the fact that they're standing there, pricks hanging out, or the mess across his hand, Paul wraps his arms around John. Something in the way the older man leans against him, trembling and needing, has Paul feeling particularly protective and he nuzzles the side of John's head softly, murmuring quiet, loving nonsense as they both come down to earth again.

"It'll never be over, you and me," John whispers gruffly, a sudden surge of emotion leaving a lump in his throat, fists tightening in Paul's clothes, hanging onto him.

"Never," Paul agrees, arms holding John even closer, "Never, Johnny." The vow thrums along the core of him, like the sounding of a plucked string. It’s a profound truth - he will _never_ be over John.

John's hand comes up to cup the back of Paul's head, John moving enough to meet Paul's mouth, pouring all that overwhelming emotion into the kiss. When he finally breaks the kiss, all raw nerve endings and for a brief moment in time completely unguarded, he whispers, "Love you."

For a moment, Paul's struck literally breathless. Gasping, he leans his head back enough to look at John's face, into his eyes, his own searching. "I love you, Johnny," Paul whispers back, letting his lover - his _love_ \- see the naked emotion in his own eyes. "Like nobody else."

John shakes his head, willing away the tears that are threatening to flood his eyes. "Nobody else," he echoes, that assertion meaning more today than at any other time. The relief is incredible; Paul hasn't pushed him away, hasn't laughed at him, has returned his words to him. Somehow, that means it's all going to be all right.

Without knowing he's doing it at first, Paul leans in, sealing their mouths together. It doesn't matter anymore that Cyn has a part of John. She can have her part, because Paul's now certain of his own part.


	6. Will You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the lovely Rhoste.

Some nights, it's torture for Paul to have to wait until they're safely locked in their room before he can let himself touch John the way he wants. On those nights, he tries to make do with just slinging his arm around John's neck, poking him and horsing around. There's no hiding the hectic flush to his cheeks at those times, though, or the over-bright light behind his eyes.

Finally, _finally_ , they're safely in their room, door closed and locked behind them, and Paul can have what he's discovered over the last couple of months is what he wants most in the world - John. Hands pulling frantically at their clothes, Paul's mouth crashes against his lover's. "Christ!" he gasps between kisses, "Need you, Johnny...now!"

John matches Paul kiss for kiss, his own need just as desperate. He pulls back from Paul just enough to shrug his shirt and undershirt off and then his body is back up against Paul's, hands sliding over bare skin. "C’m’ere," he urges, panting, moving back towards one of the twin beds. "God, my prick's already hard."

"Mmmmm," Paul hums, one hand slipping down to cup John through his trousers, "So it is." Of course, he's been at least half-hard all evening - the combination of performing and close proximity to John more than enough to keep him revved.

John chuckles, breath catching at the wave of pleasure that courses through him. He mirrors Paul's action, cupping his prick. "So're you, love. 'Course, you've been all night, haven't you? Such a whore for the crowd, Paulie," he teases.

Surging against John's hand, Paul gasps, mouth moving to the soft skin just under John's ear. "And for you, love," he murmurs, breath hot across his lover's skin.

"Are you my whore, Paul?" John asks, fist curling into Paul's hair and tugging his head back. "Will you do for me? Anything I want, no matter how depraved?"

For a long, silent moment, Paul stares into John's eyes, his own wide and searching and blazing with heat. What he sees apparently satisfies him, because Paul licks over his bottom lip and nods slowly. "Yeah, Johnny," he whispers, "Anything."

The trust Paul offers him undoes John momentarily, and all he can do is stare back into Paul's eyes. Then he shakes his head and moves in for a searching kiss, tongue sweeping through Paul's mouth. He's got visions in his head, planted by watching Brian and one of his rough boys, and he wants to find out what it's like, what going all the way with a man, with _Paul_ would actually feel like. Finally, breathless, he pulls back enough to murmur, "Wanna fuck, Paul. The real deal. Will you?"

On some level, Paul has known this was coming. To hear John lay it out so bluntly, though... it sends a shiver that's equal parts anticipation and trepidation up his spine. The care he sees in John's eyes, though, the love and the yearning - that's what reassures Paul enough to reach up and take John's face between his hands. "I will, Johnny," the answer he's given John before, the one he'll keep giving, the only conceivable answer he could ever have when it's John asking.

John's kiss this time is hard, needy, tongue plundering Paul's mouth. His hands pull at Paul's trousers trying to get them off while he simultaneously pushes Paul with his body, wanting them both on the bed _now_.

Paul answers John's kiss with equal heat, groaning as their tongues rub slickly together. When he feels the bed against the backs of his knees, he drops down onto it, squirming his trousers down until he's distracted by John's crotch _right there_ in front of his face. With a greedy hum, Paul pushes his face forward, rubbing his cheek and then opened mouth lewdly against the bulge there in John's trousers.

John's hands slide into Paul's hair, holding him where he is, his hips rolling forward just a bit. "Fuck," he moans, the sight of Paul so eager for his prick never failing to drive him crazy. "Suck it, Paul," he orders, softening it with a groaned, "please."

Though the mischievous look Paul turns up is a familiar one, the heat that simmers underneath it is something that's for John alone. Eyes locked on his lover's, Paul presses his mouth against the clothed bulge of John's prick, breathing heat against it through the fabric.

"Christ," John swears softly, fingers tightening momentarily in Paul's hair then loosening again. "You're a fucking wicked bastard," the admiration in his voice belying the words.

Paul's answer to this is to suck harder against where the base of John's cock strains heatedly against his trousers. Meanwhile, nimble fingers work at John's fly, desperate now for the touch of skin.

John's prick is aching in its cloth confines, and he breathes a sigh of relief when it's finally free. "Now, Paulie, put your mouth on me now."

If it weren't exactly the thing he wanted right now, Paul might argue the demand, just for the sake of pushing back. But if anyone has the right to make a demand of him, it's John. Add in the fact that it's what Paul _wants_ and he's agreeing with a breathy, "Yes!" hand wrapping around the base of John's cock as he takes the head into his mouth and sucks.

Paul's got a gorgeous mouth and the sight of it wrapped around his hard prick has John groaning in appreciation. His hips roll gently, pushing him deeper into that mouth, Paul's tongue working to drive him crazy.

That groan pulls an answering one from Paul as he opens his mouth wider, giving John room to move a little deeper. His eyelashes lay like dark fans on his cheeks as Paul closes his eyes, the better to _feel_ John against him, moving in and out of his mouth.

Gently, still pushing into Paul's mouth, John traces his index finger along the lower edge of Paul's lashes, mesmerized by the beauty of him. All the conditioning of his childhood and teen years, all the casual cruel jokes about queers and the confidence not being one of _them_ brought, all the importance of being one of the lads, all of it fades whenever he's with Paul, whenever they're like this together. The wash of sentiment threatens to overwhelm. "You're a champion cocksucker, Paulie my boy," he says instead, pushing everything else away.

Paul's eyes open at that, the creases at the corners giving the smile that doesn't show on his stretched lips. He's known John long enough and well enough to know what lies behind a compliment like that - _I love you, too, Johnny_ \- and Paul answers in kind, full cheeks hollowing as he sucks harder.

_Christ._ It had been John's intent to fuck Paul, but the way Paul is sucking his cock he doesn't think he's going to last much longer. The logical follow-up to that he pushes away with everything else - he'll deal with it when it happens, not before. Instead he curls both hands into Paul's hair and holds him steady, pushing harder into the tight seal of Paul's mouth.

There's a quick inhale through his nose when John hits the back of Paul's throat but they've done this often enough now that he doesn't panic. Instead, he just closes his eyes again and does his best to relax his throat - it's easier that way.

It only takes a couple of more thrusts, and then John gives a warning sound, his hands tighten in Paul's hair, and he's coming down Paul's throat.

Paul kneads at John's ass, humming with pleasure at the feel of the strong muscles clenching in his hands as John comes. Swallowing it all down, he finally pulls back, giving John a heated look as his cock slips from his mouth.

The way Paul looks at him is so incredibly sexy. John bends down and takes his mouth, tasting himself there but not even giving that a second thought as hungry as he is to taste Paul. He pushes forward until Paul's flat on his back on the bed, John more or less on top of him, both of them with their feet still on the floor, not letting up on the kiss at all.

Far from letting up, Paul takes things that step further, wrapping arms and legs around John as they kiss so that they're pressed intimately together, all along their entire bodies

"Jesus, Paul," John groans, one hand sliding down and along Paul's denim-clad thigh. He presses kisses along Paul's throat and across his collar-bone, pausing occasionally to nibble pale flesh.

"C'mon, love," Paul groans, head straining back to give John more room at his throat, "You're naked and I'm nearly there. Let's have all the skin we can get, yeah?"

Nodding against Paul's neck John skims back, taking Paul's trousers with him, and kicking his own off where they've pooled around his ankles while he's at it. He takes a moment to look at Paul all laid out on the bed, hard cock standing straight up from his centre. "You still want to? Fuck, I mean? You fucking me?"

"I--" Paul has to stop and lick over his lips before trying again, "Yes. God, Johnny, yes! Are you sure?" One hand runs up John's side, stopping to press right over his heart.

Pressing his own hand over Paul's, John snorts a laugh. "Well, it's not quite what I had in mind but I'm no damn good for that now, am I, thanks to you and that killer mouth of yours." His eyes soften, as does his tone. "But yeah, I'm sure. I want this, want us to be proper lovers. 'sides, I'm not quite the tightarse you are, am I?"

Laughing softly, Paul leans up and bites at John's mouth. "Bastard," he murmurs fondly, kissing over where he'd just set his teeth. Matching his softness to John's, Paul catches his lover's eyes and whispers, "You know I love you, right?" _I'll take care of you, love._

Eyes locked with Paul's, John just nods. He lets go of Paul's hand, fingers trailing instead down Paul's sides, tracing the muscles there. "I know," he says finally, emotion choking his voice.

Without another word, Paul pulls John down to him, rolling them so they're both laid out on their sides. For long minutes, he kisses John, mouth gentle, as are his hands as they stroke over heated skin. "You are so beautiful," Paul finally murmurs.

It's the kind of comment John would normally just shrug off, embarrassed by the idea that he could be anything but just all right while at the same time wanting desperately to believe it's true. But this is Paul, and Paul doesn't bullshit him. In fact, Paul's the one who calls him out on his bullshit. He can't answer, though, other than with his body which he presses close to Paul's, his own hands wandering over his lover's body.

A soft hiss escapes Paul's mouth when his aching prick presses against John's body again. That hiss turns to a groan as his hips rock, getting a little friction going. "Johnny--" he moans, mouth trailing across his lover's jaw, "Love...I need you..."

"Whatever you want," John offers. He's nervous, but he wants Paul so much that he's willing to ignore all the voices in his head telling him this is wrong. All that matters to him right now is he and Paul in this bed, their bodies rubbing up against each other, pricks hard and aching.

"Just want you," Paul murmurs, eyes finding John's, "You're all I need." And right then, in that moment, Paul means every word - this, _them_...it's all he needs.

"You have me," John promises, kissing Paul. When he ends the kiss he breaks into a grin and voice of foolish jollity. "Not, come on son, let's see what you're made of. Fuck me like you mean it!" Then he kisses Paul again and adds in a whisper, "Please."

_'Please'_. Now that's something Paul doesn't hear all that often from John. "Don't worry, love, I'll take care of you," he whispers, pressing one more kiss to John's mouth before getting up to rummage through his suitcase.

John watches, sprawled on the bed, prick getting interested all over again. He's got no damn idea how this should go, or how it will feel, or even if he'll enjoy it, and it's been a bloody long time since he's felt even a little like a nervous virgin, but Paul's beautiful - the sight of him takes John's breath away - and more, he loves Paul, trusts Paul, and if he's going to give this virginity up to anyone, well, then Paul's the only one who deserves it.

Making a small triumphant sound, Paul holds up the jar of Vaseline and turns around. What he sees stops him in hit tracks and steals his breath away. John - stretched out and waiting for him, such a look of _trust_ and _love_ on his face that Paul just gapes for a moment. After a few seconds, his senses return and, with a visible shake, he starts moving again.

When he sits down on the bed next to John's hip, Paul can't keep his hands to himself and strokes down John's chest and stomach. He quickly remembers the jar in his hand, though, and holds it up for John to see. "Remember Elke?" he asks with a lascivious grin.

"You're the one who remembers their names, Paulie. I'm going to need more to go on," John laughs, shifting under Paul's touch.

Rolling his eyes, Paul chuckles, rubbing a little circle over John's lower belly. "The stripper?" he prods, "In Hamburg?" One eyebrow lifts suggestively, "She liked..." Paul trails off, making a little whistling noise and nodding towards John's bum.

Stripper in Hamburg doesn't really narrow the field down much but Paul's face makes it clear what he's talking about and John finally nods in remembered recognition. "Oh yes, did everything anyone ever wanted and then some, right? So, you saying you gave her what _she_ wanted?"

"She was pretty convincing," Paul lifts one shoulder in feigned nonchalance, though his eyes glitter with remembered heat, "Didn't you, Johnny?" Because Paul remembers how Elke had been trying to get with every guy in the band at the time.

"Not me, no. Birgitte, remember? That little blonde? Had a mouth almost as good as yours. Very distracting, her," John grins. Hamburg had been one long line of debauched nights and willing women. That Elke and Birgitte stood out at all spoke for their talents.

Opening the jar, Paul nods remembrance. "Oh right," he says, dipping a finger into the oily jelly, "Birgitte - used to wear that bright lipstick, made you look like you got leprosy on your dick." The laughter in his voice is unmistakable as Paul teases, glad to have something to talk about right now that puts them both at ease.

"Surprised my dick didn't fall off the way she sucked!" John laughs, the shared memories relaxing him even as he watches Paul's preparations.

Paul gives a flirtatious little grin then, leaning down, mouth hovering over John's. "Tell me I'm better, Johnny," he whispers, hand moving so that his thumb traces delicately down his lover's cock.

"In every possible way," John nods, breath catching at the touch.

For a moment, the intense love that bolts through Paul, hearing that, shines in his face. His mouth quickly descends on John's, though, tongue probing, needing to taste the love there.

John opens to Paul's kiss, tongue meeting tongue, arms going around his lover, fingers tracing the muscles in his back. For all their affair is only a few weeks old, the feeling of Paul's mouth on his has become familiar and much loved.

Paul shivers under John's touch, letting the heat of the kiss build between them. Finally, he lifts his head enough to look down, thumb tracing the length of John's cock once more. "I'm going to touch you now, love," Paul whispers, eyes shifting to meet John's, touch base with him.

John nods, fingers reaching to touch Paul's face. "Come on, then," he says quietly, eyes holding Paul's, letting Paul see that he's still fine with where this is going.

His gaze resting on John's, Paul reaches that little bit lower with a vaseline-coated finger. There's a heartbeat of hesitation, but he swallows and rubs gently over the pucker of his lover's hole.

John tenses when he feels Paul's finger _there_ , and wonders if maybe they should have had a bottle of whiskey open before they'd started, but the rubbing feels good there's no denying that. Ticklish almost, radiating little tremors of pleasure, like a stone in a pool of water. The pleasure gives way to a need for movement and he shifts just a little, trying to feel more.

As he watches the pleasure start to heat John's cheeks, Paul feels love and want twist low in his gut. "Christ, Johnny!" he whispers reverently, letting the movement of John's hips tell him when to move on. Unable now to look away from John's face, Paul presses, feeling the tip of his finger slip in and then quickly out again. A little surprised with the ease of it, he does it again.

"Oh," John breathes at the finger's first intrusion into his body. It doesn't hurt at all; it's just odd. Maybe a little uncomfortable but nothing he can't handle. Still, he could use a little distraction. "Kiss me?" he asks.

Now _that's_ the easiest thing in the world to grant. Without a moment of hesitation, Paul leans in and presses his lips to John's, giving his lover his mouth. At the same time, he starts a slow rhythm with his hand - a shallow penetration of just the tip of his finger in and out.

John opens his mouth to Paul, encouraging him to take control of the kiss and keep John's mind off what's happening to his ass. It feels, well, still odd, but there's a tingle starting, a something he can't quite define that has him shifting and widening his legs.

With that encouragement, Paul goes ahead and works his finger further inside, still pulsing but never completely withdrawing it now. Of course, he also licks into John's mouth, tongue probing deeply; his kiss as demanding as his hand is gentle.

The more Paul's finger penetrates the more comfortable with it all John becomes. It's still not completely pleasurable, but the more the kiss heats up the less he cares.

For a moment, Paul lets himself become almost lost in kissing John. Almost. He gathers his wits though, letting their tongues tangle together as he slips his finger all the way inside, rubbing curiously over a small protrusion.

The kiss is fantastic and John's starting to relax into the whole experience and then Paul's finger touches something that makes John jump. "Fuck! What did you do?" he asks, adding, "and can you do it again?"

When John jumps, Paul does, too. In fact, he nearly jerks his hand back before he's able to stop and hold himself completely still. "Christ, Johnny! You okay, love?" Paul's already asking when John's words penetrate. "What did I--what?"

John grabs Paul's wrist to keep him from pulling back any further. "In," he instructs. "Don't know what you bloody did but it felt fantastic so you bloody figure it out and do it again!"

There's a moment where Paul just stares at John, taking it all in. Quickly though, a smirky smile spreads its way across his face. "All right, love," Paul agrees, "We'll figure it out." That said, he presses back in again, watching his lover's face for reaction.

John focuses on his breathing, trying not to tense up and stop Paul's finger from finding that glorious spot. Suddenly he bucks. "There!" he pants out, as if Paul can't see for himself he's back in the right place. "Jesus, Paulie, I don't know what the hell that spot is but..." he runs out of words as Paul moves his finger there again. "Fuck me," he groans.

"Christ, Johnny!" Paul breathes in awe as he watches, "You should see yourself!" The reaction he gets is nothing short of spectacular as he strokes gently over that curious little bump again and again.

The repeated attention to his prostate has John moaning and writhing on the bed, all his attention centered on his ass and Paul's finger.

"Good?" Paul asks, and he can't help it, he smirks a little again. He's just so relieved and happy that this hasn't turned out to be a complete disaster!

"What makes you think that?" John pants, grinning up at Paul. "C'mon, then, let's be having more of this. Show me what else you've got."

Paul can't resist dropping a quick kiss on John's mouth at that, but then he's gingerly removing his finger. Another smear of Vaseline and then he's working two fingers inside, this time trying to get to that spot as quickly as possible.

The stretch burns a little and John grunts with it, but soon enough Paul's fingers are back at that little pleasure point and he forgets everything but how good it all feels.

At this point, Paul's whole body is thrumming, _aching_ to get inside John - and not just his fingers! He doesn't rush anything, though. This is a first for them both and he wants it to be perfect.

Watching John's face for his cue, Paul eventually adds a third finger, now stretching his lover wide. "Christ!" he whispers under his breath, glancing down to see the way John's body's nearly pulling him in now.

Legs spread, knees bent, John's hips roll with each push of Paul's fingers into him. Small noises, disjointed syllables interrupted by groans, are all he seems capable of stringing together. Fuck! He's never felt anything like this, and he's pretty sure it's a good thing he's already come once or he'd be embarrassing himself all over the place right about now.

It isn't long before Paul can't take it any longer. He gently withdraws his fingers, rubbing their greasiness over his prick as he moves between John's thighs. For just a moment, though, he has to pause there. Sure, he's done anal sex before, but never with a man - never wanted to with a man before now...and that it's _John_... Paul needs a second to take it all in, almost afraid to think it's real.

Not sure why Paul's stopped, John raises his head to look at him. He can see the look in Paul's eyes - need mingled with fear and doubt - and he smiles. "C'mon, then, love," he urges, voice steady and assured. "Soon as you're ready."

Reaching up, Paul presses a hand over John's heart, face solemn and yet resplendent. "I love you, Johnny," just a quiet, simple declaration.

John places his hand over Paul's, squeezing it once before letting go. He winks. "Right, then. Fuck me like you mean it."

At that, Paul huffs a soft chuckle. "Right," he agrees, letting his hand slip down the smooth skin of John's chest before taking himself in hand. One long, deep breath and he's pressed right there, teeth gritting with the effort of holding himself back as he slowly starts to push inside.

Even with the prepwork Paul's done, John gasps and bites his lip to keep from crying out as Paul penetrates him. There's a burn and that wonderful feeling that came when Paul had touched the right spot has fled. He can only hope that Paul's prick can do what his fingers did. For now, eyes tightly shut and fingers gripping the sheets, he tries desperately to relax into it.

Paul's eyes are closed, too. Of course, they're closed so that he can concentrate better on the glorious, tight, heat gradually surrounding his prick. "Fucking Christ!" he breathes, "Oh, love!"

The oath makes John open his eyes, smile spreading as he sees the look of ecstasy on his lover's face. For that look, he can put up with anything, and it's not that it's _bad_ exactly. Just not as good as the fingers.

At that point, Paul give in and shoves the rest of the way home. His mouth falls open, but no sound comes out as he simply holds there, still inside his lover's body for just a minute.

Oh, that's better, John thinks. Still not as good as the fingers - that spot Paul had found with them he hasn't found with his prick - but the feeling of being filled, now that his body is adjusting to it, is good. Added to that, Paul is stunningly beautiful like this. John smiles, reaching a hand up to caress Paul's cheek.

When he feels that hand on him, Paul opens his eyes and gazes down into John's. He turns to press a kiss into the palm before drawing his hips back and sliding slowly home again.

This time the slide is easier, the burn much less, and John's starting to feel pleasure building. "S'good, Paulie," he reassures his partner, wanting him to know that John's still okay with it all.

"Bloody incredible, you are!" Paul breathes, dropping to his elbows so he can lean in for a proper kiss. With the angle changed, the next thrust in sends sparks all up Paul's spine and he shivers with it. "Christ, Johnny!"

"Fuck!" John exclaims. That change in angle is exactly what John needed, Paul's prick sliding over that magic spot. His hands slide up Paul's arms and around his shoulders. "That's it, love, that's perfect."

"This?" Paul asks, careful to repeat exactly what he'd just done, "Good? This?"

"Fucking hell, yes. That. Keep doing that," John pants, pulling Paul down to kiss him.

Paul groans softly into the kiss, tongue plunging into John's mouth. It's a blatant imitation of what's going on lower as he pumps in and out of John's body, tempo picking up with each thrust.

John's hand anchors in Paul's hair, fingers gripping tightly as the pleasure builds. He's had no idea two blokes fucking could feel this good, and his body writhes under Paul's, his prick hard between them.

"Johnny!" Paul gasps, one hand slipping down between them to wrap around John's prick, "Johnny, I--" He's so close he can practically _taste_ the orgasm building.

"Yeah, yeah, me too." John's breathing hard, his pulse racing, his balls up tight against his body. The slide of Paul inside him, sweat dripping onto his body, the hand stroking him... "Soon..." he warns.

The warning comes as Paul reaches the end of his endurance. Head dropping until his mouth is pressed to John's shoulder, Paul's whole body contracts, hips driving up hard into his lover and holding there as his cock pulses out his orgasm. His hand, on autopilot, doesn't even slow, just keeps furiously stroking John's prick throughout.

John's eyes widen when he feels Paul come inside him but he has time for no more reaction than that as his own orgasm crashes through him. Body arching, mouth open crying out a meaningless syllable, he comes into the tiny space between them.

"So good," Paul's murmuring, pressing tiny kisses along John's shoulder and up the side of his throat, "So good, Johnny...no one better...Christ, I love you..."

Arms encircling Paul, John turns his head capturing his lover's mouth. The kiss is less frantic than the preceding ones, but no less passionate. When it breaks, John murmurs against Paul's mouth, "Love you, Paulie. Always."


	7. Equals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like watching the origin of the species...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the amazing, inspiring Rhoste.

It's a couple of days before opportunity presents itself again and in the tiny, dingy dressing room, just minutes before they go on, Paul leans close and whispers in John's ear, "Tonight, Johnny. I'm ready."

John give Paul a startled look. "Ready? Ready for what?" he asks before he takes in the look in Paul's eye. "Oh. Oh? Really?"

In answer, Paul gives a slow nod. Truth is, he'd been ready for it to be the other way around the first time they'd fucked but after seeing, _feeling_ , how good it had been for John, there's no question.

"Christ, Paulie. Nothing like sending me out on stage with a raging hard-on," John chuckles. He wants nothing more, now, than to lean in and kiss Paul hard, but they're not alone so it will have to wait. "Later," he winks, following Brian out to the stage.

The sly grin Paul gives John shows he knew exactly what he was doing. "Later," he agrees, only a step behind John.

It's only steps to the small stage at the back of the club, not far enough for John to reply to that look, and then they're into the show. Half an hour of rock and roll, kids dancing, drinking, a few singing along. They're starting to get some recognition here in England and it feels good. Not so good, though, that John doesn't have Paul on his mind, especially when they're sharing a mic and breathing into each other's space. These past few months he's been more aware than ever of Paul on stage beside him, but tonight? It's all he can do not to kiss the man in the middle of the chorus.

There's nothing new in Paul getting hard doing a show. Tonight though, it has less to do with being on stage than it does the light in John's eyes. What he doesn't realize is that his own eyes shine every bit as brightly when they're sharing a mic, singing right into one another's faces. The anticipation that's slowly building between them as they perform leaves no room for nervousness; Paul simply _wants_.

By the time the set is over, John's about ready to jump Paul right there. There's still the packing up the instruments, and drinks with the group and Brian to be got through - and no easy way to back out of either of those without causing comment - and John's a little more caustic than usual, trying to keep frustration and need from overwhelming good sense.

It seems like, the more wound-up, the more snappish John gets, the cheerier Paul gets. Drink's always made him a little 'friendly', but tonight, he's practically hanging off his mates, John in particular.

The feel of Paul's hands on him, of his body _right there_ is making John crazy. Finally he can't take it any more, and, standing up, he pushes Paul away. He sees a flash of hurt in Paul's eyes, but there's nothing he can do about that right now. Shrugging into his jacket he says, winking at the group, "Don't know about you buggers, but I'm going to go think about the missus and have a good wank." He looks at Paul. "Try not to stay out too late, now, young Paul. Need your beauty sleep." It's as close as he can come, given their audience, to telling Paul to get his arse upstairs to the small room they're sharing tonight, and as he turns to leave he hopes it's enough.

Luckily, Paul's flush goes unnoticed in the hectic color already suffusing his features due to drink. He makes a show of pouting over the rest of his scotch and coke before standing with an exaggerated sigh. "Hate it when Johnny's right," he huffs at the other lads' questioning looks. Their teasing jabs follow him and Paul gives them the two-finger salute as he leaves the bar.

"Johnny?" the call comes soft as Paul unlocks the door, "You here?" He hadn''t seen a light under the door and wondered if he'd somehow beat John back to the room.

The end of John's ciggy glows in the dark as he inhales, the only light in the room. He watches Paul's silhouette outlined in the door, anticipation knotting his belly. "I'm here," he says quietly, moving forward into the light. "Waiting."

It's no longer unexpected when Paul suddenly feels like he can't breathe, standing there looking at John. After a moment, he moves into the room, pulling his jacket off as he goes. "Gi'us a drag," he murmurs, coming close.

In answer John takes a drag before meeting Paul's mouth with his, letting the smoke trail across two sets of lips.

For a moment, Paul just breathes it in, breathes _John_ in. It makes his head swim, but he suspects that's due more to the heat rolling off his lover than the smoke. 

Stepping aside to butt out the cigarette in an ashtray, John comes back to Paul, taking his face in both hands and kissing him properly. He lets all his pent up frustration from the teasing and the closeness drain into the kiss, not stopping until they're both breathless.

Paul winds his arms around John's waist, drawing him even closer as he opens his mouth. When they finally break the kiss, Paul's panting and he runs his tongue over his own lips, tasting John there. "Want you, Johnny," he finally whispers, eyes closing, "Do me in, I want you so much..."

John drops his head to Paul's shoulder, turning and pressing kisses to Paul's neck. "Want you, too, love, you know that. Makes me crazy, not being able to touch you." Matching actions to words his hands move down Paul's back, pulling up his shirt and undershirt so they can caress the skin above his belt.

"Mmmmmm," Paul hums, nuzzling behind John's ear, "Just means we have to make up for it now." He mirrors John's moves, hands pulling at his shirt and undershirt before slipping up underneath. "Touch me, Johnny," he murmurs, a certain urgency threading through his voice, "Touch me so I can feel it when you can't."

The words go straight to John's prick, melting his brain. "Fuck, Paul, what you do to me," he whispers, shaking his head. Then he takes a step back and pulls off first his shirt, then Paul's. Long tapered fingers stroking over bare skin he bends his head and traces Paul's collarbone with his tongue.

When John's beautiful, beautiful hands start moving on him, Paul shivers uncontrollably, skin coming up in goosebumps. "Just need you, love," he whispers, hands going to John's head and carding through the thick abundance of his hair as his head descends. Paul's head falls back a little at the touch of John's mouth on him and he murmurs even more quietly, "That's all. Just need you."

Straightening, John kisses Paul, answering with actions rather than words. He takes a step back, then another and another, pulling Paul by his belt until they're both at the bed. He stops there and kisses Paul again, slowly, thoroughly, murmuring against Paul's lips when he's done, "Gonna lay you down and give you everything you need."

"Yes, love," Paul answers with a quiet moan, hands greedy as they roam over John's back. He wants more - more skin, more touch, more kisses - more everything. And it's all the more precious because he knows their time together is finite and always too brief.

Nimble fingers unbuckle Paul's belt, then undo his trousers. John slides both hands down the back of Paul's y-fronts, cupping his ass and pulling his lover hard against him. "Pretty Paulie," he whispers. "Want you messy and panting, spread out and dirty."

Paul's prick throbs at John's words and he dips his head, biting at John's shoulder. "Put me where you want me," he whispers against skin before lifting his head again and looking right into John's eyes, his own carrying a hint of challenge, "Make me yours."

The look in Paul's eyes together with his words just add to the way John's feeling right now. He wants to take control completely, to have Paul do what he tells him to, to make him his. In normal circumstances, John giving orders would have Paul spitting fire, but he can't make himself stop, the need to just _take_ Paul welling up in him. He spins them around so that Paul's back is to the bed. One hand to Paul's chest he pushes gently. "Strip. Then on your back, spread for me."

With the hand in the middle of his chest, Paul lets himself follow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His large eyes wide and watching John the whole time, Paul wriggles his trousers and underwear down and off, kicking free of them and his shoes all at once with socks quickly following. Then he's scooting back on the bed, shoving a pillow behind his shoulders so he can prop up and still watch John. "All right, Johnny," he murmurs quietly, his knees falling open and exposing him to his lover, "I'm here."

John makes a small noise in the back of his throat at the sight of Paul spread out. He pulls of his shoes, socks, and jeans, prick standing proud, and runs his hands up Paul's legs, starting at the ankles and stopping only when he reaches Paul's hips. "You're a filthy bugger," he says, tone clearly admiring. "Laid out for me, shameless slut."

"Careful you don't get yerself dirty then, love," Paul teases, though his voice is thick with need. He wants to reach out and grab John by the shoulders, pull him up so his weight's pressing him down into the bed; wants it so badly his fingers curl reflexively against the sheets. He keeps them where they are, though, willing to let John dictate how this is going to go for now.

"Dirty is exactly what I'm going to get," John promises, crawling up onto the bed to lie between Paul's legs. He gasps as hard prick meets hard prick, rubbing himself against Paul briefly, the sensation causing tremors throughout his body. Supporting himself on knees and elbows, his hands frames Paul's face. "You're sure, love?"

Though he groans with it when John rubs their pricks together, pure physical need clawing at his gut, it's that flash of tenderness that Paul speaks to when he answers. "I'm sure, Johnny," he looks directly into John's eyes, so close to his, "You and me, equals, in every way."

John nods, dipping his head to capture Paul's mouth. The kiss starts out soft and gentle but rapidly all the desire and sheer physical _want_ that John's feeling pours into it, until they have to break apart, panting for air. John moves then, kissing his way down Paul's body until he reaches a nipple. Tongue laving over it he delicately sets his teeth around the nub, waiting for a reaction.

There's not long to wait. Paul doesn't even need pressure, just the promise of teeth on so sensitive an area is enough to have his back bowing. Nimble fingers thread into John's hair and Paul husks encouragement, "Yes, love!"

Smiling around the nipple in his mouth, John bites down gently, rolling the nub with his teeth, then pulls back to swipe over it with his tongue again. He had discovered, about a month ago, that one of his new favourite things is watching Paul come undone in his hands, and he aims to take full advantage of that tonight.

Paul cries out softly, his head thrashing back and forth on the pillow. Hands tightening in John's hair, he pants out, "And you tell me-- _I'm_ the one with a wicked mouth!" It's obvious from the way he moves against John, however, that it's not a complaint.

John lifts his head and grins at Paul, then turns his attention to the other nipple, lavishing it with just as much attention as its mate. When he's done he continues moving down Paul's body, tracing a lazy path with his tongue.

That 'devilish little boy' grin does something to him. When Paul sees it, a wave of more than just lust crashes over him and he relaxes into it, letting a low whine of pleasure sigh out from him.

John keeps going, feeling Paul settling under him. Reaching Paul's prick he gives it a swipe with his tongue, then nuzzles past it down to Paul's balls, sucking first one then the other into his mouth, listening to the sounds Paul's making above him. One day, he swears, they're going to do this in a studio and John is going to record it. Something to warm his nights when he's old and grey.

"Johnny," the name seems to sigh out of Paul. His hands move to John's head, tugging fretfully at his hair. It's more plea than demand, though. "Christ," he groans, voice thick with need, "So good, love. You do me so good."

The sounds Paul makes, the smell of him, are just ramping up John’s arousal and he can't wait anymore. Kissing the bits of Paul he passes on his way, he moves up and over, reaching for the Vaseline. He squeezes some on his fingers then settles down over Paul, head pillowed on his lover's hip where he can watch everything happen, fingers sliding down and rubbing over Paul's hole.

Paul jerks when John finally touches him, but it's nothing more than anticipation. The actual feel is rather nice, the warmth of John's fingers stroking gently over him. Breath blowing out, Paul relaxes, petting over John's hair. "A'right, love," he whispers, "S'good."

"Very good," John murmurs, turning his head to kiss Paul's skin. He rubs a little while longer, then pushes the tip of his finger into Paul, holding his breath until he feels the muscle give way, Paul's body allowing him access.

"Oh," Paul breathes, eyes a little wide as he gazes down his body at John. That was easier than he'd expected and Paul cants his hips experimentally, inviting his lover deeper.

John chuckles at Paul's reaction. "Greedy," he says, kissing Paul's hip again. He accepts the invitation though, pushing his finger inside, the heat of Paul's body surrounding him. He remembers what he liked, and pulls the finger out to the tip before pushing it again, feeling the path ease for him.

Sweat suddenly stands out all over Paul's body. "Johnny!" His voice hitches out a little higher than normal and he can't help but give a little squirm. John's _inside_ him and it doesn't feel at all like he'd expected. It feels... good.

John stills, lifting his head to look at Paul's face. "Alright, love?" he asks, prepared to stop entirely if Paul's decided he's not comfortable with this.

"Don't stop!" Paul demands. His eyes soften when they meet John's gaze though, and he repeats, "Don't stop, love." And to demonstrate, he shifts his hips again, letting loose a soft moan to feel the way John's finger shifts sightly inside him.

Remembering the way he felt the first time Paul had been inside him John chuckles at the instruction, pressing his face into Paul's hip to hide it. He nods. "Right, love, here we go." He presses in again, looking for that spot that had made him feel so good.

Nodding at John's words, Paul takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, relaxing for the digit moving deeper into him. Those dark eyes snap back open again though, when John finds _that_ place. His whole body jerking like he's licked a socket, Paul gasps loudly, grabbing out to hold on to John. "Johnny!" and wonder colors Paul's voice when he breathes his lover's name.

"I know," John grins. And he does - he had damn near the exact same reaction when Paul had found that spot originally. "Hang on, Paulie, it gets better." He pulls his finger almost all the way out, then adds another, scissoring them as he pushes them back into Paul.

"Mmph!" Paul grunts, frowning a little at the slight burn as his body accommodates a second finger. But then John's rubbing over that spot again and Paul feels like his eyes are crossing with the pleasure of it.

John is fascinated, the way Paul feels, the way he sounds, the look of him, he can't get enough. He could stay like this for hours, just playing with Paul's body. Or, well, he could, but his prick is quite sure it needs to be inside Paul soon. He shifts a little, moving more on top of Paul, using his mouth to distract his lover while he adds another finger.

Once again, a small line of concentration comes up between Paul's brows when another finger's added to the stretch. It doesn't last for long, though, not with the way John's mouth moves on him, not with the way his whole body lights up when John's fingers find that place inside him. "Oh, love--" he pants, hand alternately clenching and petting through John's hair, "Oh, love..."

Incoherent Paul is a wonderful thing, John thinks, listening to his lover fall apart, so wonderful that John can't wait any longer. Pulling his fingers out of Paul's body he swipes a little more Vaseline over his prick and settles himself on top of Paul, his cock pressing against Paul's hole. He kisses Paul's gorgeous mouth, murmuring against his lips, "Now, love. Open up for me now."

Nodding, Paul whispers his, "Yes, Johnny," against John's mouth. He presses a kiss there, waiting.

John drops his head to Paul's shoulder, resting it there while he concentrates on what he's doing. Pushing gently, he can feel the stretched muscle giving easily to him, allowing him entrance. With one long, smooth push he seats himself inside Paul, raising his head in wonder as he does. "Fuck me, Paulie. Just... fuck me," he whispers, awe in how Paul feels surrounding his prick clear in his face.

Though he's working furiously to just _breathe_ at the burn and stretch of his body trying to accommodate John's prick, Paul can't help but smile. _That_ ; that absolute reverence he hears in John's voice? He knows how that feels. Long, clever, ridiculously delicate fingers dig into John's back and his hip, holding him steady for just another few seconds. Paul's smile doesn't waver, though, "I know, love."

John holds as long as he can until lust overtakes him. Pressing his mouth to Paul's, delving deep with his tongue, his hips begin to move. Slowly at first, he works Paul's body open until he can slide without any undue pressure, just the friction of two bodies working together. When he can feel the way completely clear, he picks up the pace until his hips are slamming him into Paul.

At some point, just for the sake of holding on tighter, Paul lifts one leg to wrap around John's waist. The shift in angle is just what he'd needed, though. "Oh!" he gasps, hands grasping convulsively when sparks go off behind his eyes, "Johnny--Christ!"

"That's it," John grits out, determined not to come yet but having trouble hanging on - Paul is so _fucking_ hot like this. "Just like that, yeah." He moves his head slightly until his mouth is on Paul's collarbone and he sets his teeth against the skin, not biting hard enough to leave a bruise but just enough to make sure Paul feels him.

It's-it's too much-not enough-never enough. "Please, love!" Paul begs, not really knowing what he's asking for, but desperate for it anyway, "Please! I--need..."

"Need what?" John demands. He's not sure what this feeling is that's sweeping through him; he just knows that he needs Paul to say what he needs explicitly, to ask him for it, to give John complete control.

"You!" Paul gasps, hands clenched feverishly tight at John's hips, head arching back as he presses up tighter against John's mouth, "More! _Please_ , Johnny!" It's an unheard-of thing, Paul begging, but being like this with John apparently demolishes his pride utterly.

It's more than John can take. Mouth fastening on Paul's skin he slams into him as hard as he can, twice, three times, and again, until his climax rolls through him, body spasming as he empties into Paul.

Paul's right there with him, John's mouth the last thing he needed to send him over. Moan after quiet moan spills from his mouth as he comes, body trembling with the force of it.

There's a moment, two, three, when all John can do is slump over Paul's body, fighting to breathe. With a woman, he would have rolled off immediately not wanting to crush her, but Paul, Paul is as big as he is, Paul can take his weight, and there's a relief, a pleasure, in that. Eventually, though, he shifts, slipping out of Paul with a small grunt of unhappiness at the separation, then rolling over and pulling Paul in against his body, wanting the warmth of him.

Paul doesn't miss the unhappy noise, he makes one himself, but rolls contentedly against John when his lover tugs at him. Tangling their legs together, he nuzzles small, soft kisses against John's mouth, chin, cheeks. "You've turned me inside-out, love," he murmurs softly, a hint of a smile curling in at the corners of his kiss-swollen mouth.

"I've bloody well tried!" John grins, hand anchoring in Paul's hair to hold him still long enough for John to kiss him properly. "You, my pretty Paulie, are a fucking excellent lay, I'll have you know."

"Oooo, John-love," Paul coos, trying to hold back his giggles, "How gallant you are!" It's no use, the giggles burst free at that and Paul presses his mouth to John's to muffle them. Of course, this distracts him right proper for a minute and when he pulls back, his breath's a little shallow and his eyes are warm. "Best I ever had, love," he tells John, long fingers tracing idly over the skin of John's back and his side.

"Should hope so," John harrumphs, ruining it by pulling Paul back to kiss some more. He can't seem to get enough of a taste of Paul to fully let him go, now or ever really. It's a strange thing, this whatever it is they're having, but now that it's started he can't imagine not having Paul in his life this way. Wife and about-to-be child notwithstanding.


End file.
